


vengeance of the risen

by Teahound



Series: soldiers and spirits [2]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, Fantasy AU, Flashbacks, Fluff, Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Reveal, Kidnapping, No shipping/romantic relationships, Platonic Relationships, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Spies & Secret Agents, Tommyinnit typical language, Wilbur Soot accidentally adopts kids, there is fluff I promise, wartime drama
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:35:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27790870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teahound/pseuds/Teahound
Summary: Four months after the Muffinteers left the forest with a new friend in tow, they’re about to embark on another adventure. Not exactly on purpose. Bad’s past, and a few of his old friends, have caught up with them, and they have a new mission to complete if they ever hope to walk free again.Dream doesn’t heal with moss and lichen in his blood anymore. He can’t summon a tree to his defense. He moves fast and swings a dangerous blade, and he’ll do anything to protect his friends. But he’s starting to think that his everything won’t be enough.Who is he when he’s not a god anymore?Fantasy AU featuring all your favorite Minecraft people!
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Dave | Technoblade, Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Darryl Noveschosch & Sapnap, Niki | Nihachu & Wilbur Soot, Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit
Series: soldiers and spirits [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1984312
Comments: 240
Kudos: 452





	1. something is about to begin

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone I'm back!  
> This is the sequel to _and as he fell (you walked away)_ though it's got its own vibe. This one is a lot more exciting, to say the least, and it's going to be a lot longer too. I'm really excited to share it with y'all! 
> 
> Thank you to all of you who are coming from reading my first story, and hello to everyone who is new to my writing! I was blown away by the response to _and as he fell._ It quite literally changed my life! I've made so many new friends and gained so much confidence as a writer as a result! Thank you! 
> 
> With that said, I hope you enjoy the story! <3
> 
> Warning for swearing for this chapter

Some stories are easy to tell. Dream’s story had been like that. It wasn’t really a complicated one. At first, it had just been him and the forest, and then it had been him in the forest, and his three friends, (who were also trying to kill him; it had been a weird friendship), and his enemy, a rival spirit of the neighboring city known as Technoblade, who was trying to kill him as well. 

But then Dream and his friends, Bad, George and Sapnap, (who didn’t want to kill him anymore, they’d decided to choose friendship over money or something like that) left the forest. And suddenly Dream’s story got a lot more tangled. A lot of things changed. There were more people, more places, more moments in time, all mixing up into a convoluted tale of hope, freedom, vengeance, adventure, and friendship. 

It was hard to know where to start. 

********  
Maybe it started with the chilly winter morning when the stablehand borrowed a horse and cantered out to the coast to see the sunrise. 

Like a lot of people in the small seaside kingdom, the stablehand was afraid. But, with the cold winter air stinging his cheeks, and the quiet road flying away beneath him, it was hard to feel anything but free. 

He reached the road that wound frighteningly close to the edge of a cliff and watched as the sun rose over the sea. Pinks and purples and oranges stained the sky, turning the world into a breathtaking stained-glass cathedral. It was glorious. 

Beneath him, the horse stirred and stamped unhappily, breaking the silence with a disquiet whinny. The stablehand patted the broad, warm neck comfortingly, but his eyes were fixed on the horizon. 

“Yeah,” he said, “I feel it too. Things are about to change.” 

*************  
Maybe it began when two boys scrambled down the alley in a dirty city. One was clutching a loaf of crusty bread under his arm, while the other pushed him forward. “Tommy, go _faster_!” 

“I’m going as fast as I--” his voice was cut off by a shout, and the pounding of footsteps from behind. They darted around a corner, leaving their pursuer in the dust. 

The taller of the boys breathed a sigh of relief, slumping against the dirty brick wall, and split the loaf into careful halves. “Shit man, we should probably get out of town soon. That was close.” he handed over a portion of the food to his friend, who began to cheerfully scarf it down. 

“Yeah,” he said between bites, “that’s because you don’t have any _finesse._ ” 

“I don’t even know what that means.” 

“You’re not very smart, are you?”

“Tubbo, you are a bitch.” 

They were too busy enjoying their bread and keeping an ear out for approaching footsteps, but if they’d been paying attention, they might have felt the coming change too. 

*************  
Maybe it began in an ornate hall, in the royal palace, where the Emperor was saying. “Cut to the chase, man. I’m getting bored.” 

The General didn’t bat an eye. He must have been used to this. “To put it simply, sir, we are too short on both manpower and funds to continue a frontal assault. We must pull back until spring.” 

“We need more soldiers? I don’t know about you, _sir,_ but that seems like a fixable problem.” 

The Emperor stood, and all across the long marble hall, counselors, soldiers, and servants exchanged glances tinged with fear. His heels clicked against stone floors like an unspoken threat. “General, what is the current age for the draft?” 

“All citizens over the age of eighteen or younger than the age of forty-five,” there was a long pause. “Sir.” 

“Well, let’s lower it. Two years, that seems fair. Draft now begins at sixteen. Next order of business? Come on, I don’t have all day.” 

“Your majesty!” 

The Emperor rolled a lazy eye to the figure who was suddenly standing a few chairs down. “Yes, Counselor Quackity? You have something to add?”

The Counselor swallowed nervously, hands braced against the oaken table. “Your majesty, the people aren’t, uh, going to like this. Morale is already low--”

“Oh, shut up Quackity. Who do you think I’m doing this for, _huh?_ The people. And if the people aren’t _fucking_ grateful after all I’ve done to win this god _damn _war--” he advanced across the room, watching with blistering satisfaction as the cowed man shrunk back into his seat, muttering an apology.__

__“Anyone else? Or can we finally move on?”_ _

__Across the table, a young man with orange hair clenched his jaw, face carefully neutral as he scanned the averted faces around the table. _How long,_ he wondered, _will this go on before they realize things have to change?_ __

__

__

__

__

__***********  
Maybe it began in another place, a city by the edge of a forest, where a different kind of king sat on a rooftop and watched the sunrise over a smoky skyline, and wondered why he suddenly felt so empty. _ _

__***********  
Maybe it began with the soldier lying by the roadside, wrapped in a thin brown coat, staring up at the stars as he tried to catch some sleep despite the cold that felt like it was penetrating his bones, and the ache in his wounded leg. He wished he had a fire. Or that he was already back with his dad, having never left for a war he couldn’t win. _ _

__He turned on his side, shivering, and thought of the limping walk that awaited him before he was home._ _

__*************  
Maybe it began when a spy consulted a map and tried to crush the nagging fear that they were making a terrible mistake, before choosing a road and pushing onwards. _ _

__***********  
Or maybe it began with the morning when four mercenaries, known collectively as The Dream Team, walked into a city and saw the flyers hanging off the gate. _ _

__George pulled one off as they went past, and stopped suddenly. “Guys.”_ _

__They turned back to him, seeing his face. “What is it?” Bad asked, steeling himself for a poster declaring that one of the four was wanted for some crime or another in this town. It was a risk coming to a city like this, big enough that they might be recognized, but he had thought--_ _

__George passed the paper over, and Bad immediately forgot what he had been thinking about. “By decree of the Emperor the-- he did _not_.” _ _

__“What? What?” Sapnap said impatiently, trying to look over Bad’s shoulder._ _

__“Schlatt lowered the draft age. Again. It’s sixteen now.”  
_ _

“What the-- what the muffin!” Sapnap was trying to be obliging, but he said _muffin_ with enough passion to make it sound like a swear. “He can’t do that, can he?” 

__“He did,” George’s voice was grim. He glanced over at Dream, who he knew must be frowning beneath the wooden mask he was wearing. “When the war started, the draft age was twenty.”_ _

__Dream noticed his look. “I’ve only ever heard you mention this Emperor guy twice, and it’s never been anything good.”_ _

__Bad began to steer them farther into the crowds, away from the guards at the city gate. Sedition was illegal after all, and few publicly spoke out against Schlatt without some form of consequence. “That’s because there isn’t much good to say. At this point, everyone knows he stole the crown in the first place. And then immediately declared war on Calestria.”_ _

__“For ‘land that’s rightfully ours’” George put air-quotes around the words. “It’s been fifteen years and we don’t have any land, just a lot of dead people, and he’s never even considered stopping. And now he’ll go kill some kids too.’_ _

__“Shhh.”_ _

__“Oh, alright,” his voice dropped to a less noticeable volume. “I guess it’s hard to understand, but things didn’t use to be like this.”_ _

__“Like what?” Dream asked. Someone pushed past him, knocking into his shoulder, and then started away when they saw the mask. He felt bad for scaring them-- most people found the mask rather intimidating--- but he needed it. Out here, there were just too many eyes, too many people. It felt overwhelming. With the mask, he felt safe and hidden from their stares._ _

__George gestured around the dirty market, the squalid buildings, the tired faces, the abandoned buildings on the street corners. “Like this,” he paused, reflecting. “Not that I remember before very well.”_ _

__Fifteen years is a long time when you are not very old._ _

__They wandered through the market, looking for the handful of essentials they’d come to buy. Bad sidled up beside George, glancing left and right for guards or prying eyes. “I hate to say it, but keep the document close. You have it?”_ _

__George nodded. In the four months since they’d left the forest, they’d had enough successful jobs to afford a forged document that explained that George’s absence from his military duties was due to a serious injury from which he was still slowly recovering, rendering him unfit for service. Anyone who saw the hunter swing a sword or shoot a carefully aimed arrow would immediately know exactly how much of a farce the paper was, but it should be enough to keep him from being dragged back to the front lines-- or shot as a deserter.  
But Schaltt was clearly getting desperate. Which meant that paper might not be enough. _ _

__He prayed it would be enough._ _

__Sapnap tugged at his sleeve. “Dude, snap out of it. We’re having fun.”_ _

__“I hadn’t noticed,” he said dryly, but he dutifully followed after him. “What kind of fun?”_ _

__Sapnap pointed across the market to a dingy cart with a roughly painted sign that announced _‘firEwoRks’_ could be bought there for a _‘resnable’_ price _ _

__Bad’s eyes widened. “Oh no.”_ _

__“Oh yes.”_ _

__“You are not--”_ _

__“It’s my turn to pick the treat!”_ _

__Money was tight among their group, not due to the lack of work, nor to their lack of skill, but because they were saving their coins to pay off the debt Sapnap owed to an official back in his old hometown. Until the debt was gone, there was always a chance that other mercenaries would be hunting their friend down. But life without a chance to spend their hard-earned coin on something fun seemed dreary, so they took turns choosing something to purchase. Dream had gotten a local carpenter to make a rough wooden replacement for his old porcelain mask after he’d found his first city a bit...overwhelming. George had gotten a spyglass, mostly because it looked pretty. Bad, ever practical, had replenished his old sewing kit, and gotten a dozen muffins, which he’d eaten six of single-handedly. Now it was Sapnap’s turn, and both Bad and George looked like they regretted introducing the idea in the first place._ _

__“What are fireworks?” Dream asked. Four months was a long time, but there were still things he didn’t know. They’d grown used to explaining the various bits of their world they’d always taken for granted, though Sapnap tended to make up things when he didn’t have the answers for Dream’s constant curiosity._ _

__Sapnap bounced with excitement. “You’ve never seen fireworks? Oh man, now we have to get them. Come on, Bad. You can’t tell me no, you _can’t._ ” _ _

__The older hunter sighed and graciously relented as Sapnap dragged Dream by the arm to the rickety stall._ _

__If he had been paying more attention, he might have felt it._ _

__Eyes, watching him._ _

__The hunters didn’t know it, but they were being followed._ _

__*****************_ _

__Dream lay by the dying fire and stared up at the stars._ _

__Even here, miles outside the city, camped out in a frozen-over field, the sky was less clear, the stars not nearly as bright as they had been in the forest._ _

__He turned over, restless, and heard George shifting beside him. “You awake?”_ _

__“Yeah. It’s too cold. We’re gonna be exhausted in the morning.” George sat up and pushed a piece of wood into the campfire, sticking his hands out to the flames to warm them._ _

__Exhausted. Before, in the forest, he’d never felt tired. He’d slept when he wanted to, but his body didn’t really need it very much. He wasn’t human, wasn’t constricted by human needs. But that had been changing. He felt sleep pull on his eyelids and stifled a yawn. George was right. Tomorrow he would have a hard time waking up, and he’d carry the fatigue with him all day._ _

___He_ had been changing. _ _

__It was a little frightening._ _

__He scooted over to where George was sitting and draped a blanket over both of them. George curled close to him, head resting on his shoulder, and he laughed. “You really are freezing.”_ _

__“It’s not my fault.”_ _

__“No, it’s not. Smaller creatures get colder more quickly because, they uh, can’t conserve body heat as well.”_ _

__“Are you calling me short?”_ _

__Dream released a breathless snort of laughter. This, at least, was a change for the better. He thought he’d spoken more words in the last four months than he had in the entirety of his existence. It made him feel real. “Yeah, ‘cause you are.”_ _

__George simply huffed a frustrated sigh, chuckling a bit despite himself. “So what’s keeping you awake?”_ _

__“I…” Dream shrugged. “It’s still a lot to get used to, you know? You’d think I’d feel normal by now, but every time I try and fall asleep, everything feels wrong.”_ _

__“What feels wrong? Like, specifically.” George peered up at him like he was trying to read his mind._ _

__He thought about it. “I miss trees, I guess. It’s too open out here. I feel… is there an opposite to claustrophobic?”_ _

__“Agoraphobic.”_ _

__“Yeah. That.”_ _

__George stifled a yawn, leaning back and stealing the rest of the blanket. “I mean, it makes sense. You’ve been in the forest for...how long?”_ _

__Dream had no idea. Longer than his memory lasted, at least. “Forever.”_ _

__“Forever, huh. That’s kind of a long time. You’ve got to give yourself time to get used to this, y’know?” he sat up suddenly, looking a little panicked. “You don’t regret leaving, do you?”_ _

__Dream laughed and pushed him over again. “Go to bed, idiot.”_ _

__“You’re an idiot.” but he curled up dutifully, eyes closed._ _

__Dream laughed softly. “I don’t regret anything, you know. I feel like I just started living.”_ _

__George was already asleep._ _

__The spirit leaned back and looked up at the stars. He wondered if the others could feel it too, the shift in _something,_ whispering at him, tugging at his mind. _ _

___Things are about to change.___


	2. new roads and old friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Dream Team meets some old friends and Wilbur makes a new one. 
> 
> CW: Swearing and some descriptions of violence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! This chapter is shorter than I'd initially planned, but I'm publishing in smaller chunks to keep from burning out, and I've also been incredibly distracted by the emotional devastation happening on the Dream SMP this week. It's a process, but I'm getting back into the swing of things. 
> 
> Thank you SO SO MUCH for all your support. This story already has well over 100 kudos, which is just insane and seeing all your sweet comments felt like meeting old friends again. I'm excited to continue this adventure with you all. :)
> 
> Lots of love, Teahound

Wilbur Soot was dreaming about the worst day of his life. Again. 

Well, it might have been night. It was hard to tell because the sky had been the same slate grey for weeks. The air smelled of gunpowder, and his throat burned with the taste of sulfur. He brought a hand up to his ringing ears, and they came away damp with blood. 

He was alone. 

He didn’t remember how he got here. He needed to go, get away, find somewhere… no, he couldn’t remember. He stumbled blindly onwards, thick mud beneath his feet, clawing his way across the broken earth. He wondered, somewhere in the back of his tired and ragged mind, what might have been here before the war claimed it. Maybe a farmer’s field. Maybe a forest. But dynamite and fire did their work quickly, and now it was a wasteland, a monument to destruction. 

He tripped over something lying on the ground and landed on his face. Fatigue weighed on every limb. He could just… lie down. Right here. He could fall asleep, and this hell would go away. Maybe, if he slept hard enough, he’d wake up at home with his Dad and a warm fire, and something to eat. And a hug. He could use a hug right now. 

Dad. That was where he was going right? He had to get back to Phil. 

He didn’t hear the approaching footsteps making their way across the field. 

As Wilbur scrambled to his feet, he saw the flash of dark green from the corner of his eye and tried to run.

It was too late. The figure, dressed in a sullied Calestrian uniform, was bearing down on him, knife in hand. They fell atop one another, scrabbling in the slick mud for purchase, for the knife.

Wilbur felt it go deep into his right thigh.

He felt the pain explode across his leg, his torso, felt himself screaming his throat raw, saw darkness creeping across his eyes… 

Felt the weight of the Calestrian’s body suddenly disappear, heard the singing of steel, opened his eyes and saw… a someone. Long pale pink hair falling out of a braid, a cloak as red as blood fluttering around a tall figure. 

The person turned and looked back, red eyes flashing and meeting his. 

_This is how I die,_ Wilbur thought. 

But the stranger merely opened its mouth and said, _“Wake up, nerd.”_

Wilbur Soot woke up.

********  
The house appeared to be deserted. 

The mission was really supposed to be easy. They’d “retrieved” (Dream had learned that this was George’s preferred alternative to the word “robbery” which felt like a humorous distinction to make, but oh well) an old book of some kind from a private collection, and now all that was left was to leave the book here and collect their payment, which was supposedly waiting just inside. 

Simple, right? 

Right?

Dream reached out and grabbed Bad’s shoulder before he crossed the threshold. “Bad…can you feel it? Something’s off.” 

Bad wasn’t a spirit like him, but Dream had learned that the hunter was aware of those forces that moved the world. A little more in touch, perhaps. If Dream was picking up on one of those inexplicable feelings, Bad might be too. 

“I don’t feel anything,” Bad turned back, suddenly concerned. “What is it?”

“I don’t know, maybe it’s nothing.” He didn’t trust his senses the way he used to. Perhaps he was just going a little haywire. “But let’s be careful?”

“What are you two whispering about?” George complained from behind.

“Yeah, are you keeping secrets?” 

Bad rolled his eyes. “No, Sapnap, don’t be a muffin. Come on, let’s make this quick. I’m ready to leave town.” 

“We just got here!”

“We just stole something here. Also, once we’re out of the city you can use your fireworks.”

Sapnap’s eyes lit up. “Let’s go!” 

They walked into the empty house, carefully scanning the room. The interior had been partially gutted, and everything was layered in dust. The floorboards were ripped up here and there, revealing stonework underneath. The only thing in the room not layered in grime was a small wooden chest sitting against the far wall. 

Sapnap and George stayed by the door, closing it behind them, while Dream took up position in the center of the room, hand drifting to the axe strapped to his back. Bad walked over to the chest, drawing a leather tome wrapped in brown paper from his pack. 

He opened the chest. 

There was a long silence. And then: “It’s empty.” 

There was a knock at the door. 

George started, and they turned to stare. Bad stood. Dream drew the axe from his back. 

“Hey, I know you’re in there,” a voice said. It wasn’t a particularly remarkable voice, a bit high and raspy, a lisp slipping through. Nothing about it screamed ‘threat’ or ‘run.’ 

But Dream watched as Bad’s eyes went wide, and he stumbled back against the wall, the color draining from his face. 

“Are we gonna do this the easy way or the hard way?” 

They glanced at one another, the question unspoken: _what do we do?_

Bad looked like he was going to be sick, but he pulled himself upright, tension in every muscle. “Guys, we have to g--” 

The door came crashing in. 

Dream caught a glimpse of a half-dozen figures, dressed in black, masks pulled up over their faces, before he suddenly found himself trying to block the blows of two attackers at once, the wood on his axe-hilt splintering from the impact. He felt a surge of panic as George was knocked off his feet. Sapnap sprang forward, tackling the figure from behind, just dodging the swing of another’s sword. “Dream!” He shouted over his shoulder, “We could use something clever _right now!_ ” 

There was no forest there, but Dream called for it anyway. _Help,_ he begged, as he ducked beneath a blade swung uncomfortably close to his face. 

The effort was almost painful, but he felt a sudden surge of relief as vines began to snake from between the stones, wrapping around legs, tripping people, tugging them back, giving his friends a chance to slip out of range and collect themselves. It was a shadow of what he used to be capable of, but it was enough.

No. It was nearly enough. 

It took too much effort to concentrate, and for just a moment Dream lost track of what was happening. 

And then the heavy hilt of a sword crashed down on his head, and he collapsed like a marionette with its strings cut. 

*********  
When Wilbur woke up, everything hurt. 

His fingers were clumsy and numb from the cold, his body sore from sleeping on the hard-packed dirt, and his leg throbbed, more from the memory of pain than the pain itself. 

When Wilbur woke up, he woke up gasping for air, shock tingling through him. 

The nightmares shouldn’t be so surprising every single time, he thought bitterly. He’d begun dreaming of that day over and over again, ever since he set out, away from the war for the first time in a year. It wasn’t always that day, that moment. Sometimes it was another memory touched with grotesque terror. 

It had been a long year, and Wilbur Soot had too many nightmarish memories to choose from. 

But lately, though, things had changed. He’d been seeing _him._

He sat up, noting with nervousness the thick blanket of frost that surrounded him. If it began to snow, he’d be in true trouble. His coat was thin and worn nearly to shreds, and his boots had seen better days. And he was still a long ways from home, with little money, and rapidly diminishing hope. 

It had seemed so simple when he’d started out. Take the coast road, and walk until he got to Phil. Just keep going until he got home. 

He hadn’t realized that a man, limping on a barely functional leg with a crutch under one arm, and a pack that was too heavy and guitar with a broken string, and boots that were falling apart, had a hard time getting anywhere. Least of all halfway across the country. 

Struggling to his feet, he dug around his pocket for the leftovers of last night’s dinner; a bit of stale bread and a bite of questionable cheese. 

He tightened his belt, and walked the short distance to the road, and stared out at the miles ahead. 

He had to get home. 

***********

Dream woke up with a headache, his pulse beating frantically against his wrist. It took him a moment too long to understand why he was afraid, and a moment longer to realize he was having trouble moving. 

“Guys?” he croaked and heard stirring near him as his senses slowly began to return. 

It didn’t feel like an improvement. 

His hands wouldn't move because they were knotted behind him with a rough cord. He opened his eyes and couldn’t see, because there was something rough and smelly sitting over his face. “George? Bad? Nick?” 

“I’m right here,” he heard Sapnap’s voice somewhere to his right, followed by a grunt of pain. “Ouch, man, you didn’t have to _kick_ me.”

“Well, then, shut up,” this was the voice from outside the door. 

“Skeppy, leave him alone.” There was Bad, thank the stars. 

A woman’s thickly accented voice, butted in, “Yer not exactly in a position to be tellin’ us what to do, _Darryl?_ ” 

The rough bag they’d thrown over his head wasn’t cinched around his neck, and it didn’t take much effort to shake it off. He blinked in the dim light, trying to understand what was happening. 

He was in a room, an enormous room lit only by a lantern sitting on a cobwebbed crate not far from him. A warehouse, perhaps? Sapnap was leaning against the wall, looking incredibly pissed, beside him on the left, and George was still slumped over on the right. Bad was a few feet beyond Sapnap. 

All three of them had their hands tied like Dream, and Sapnap had an ugly bruise on his face. Bad looked tired and pale, and his glasses were missing. George was apparently still unconscious. 

More noticeably, however, were the two people directly in front of them. One, a young man from the looks of it, had a ridiculous floof of dark hair and a bright blue jacket which he’d donned over the dark clothes he was wearing. The woman was sitting perched precariously on top of one of the crates, her face turned away. 

“Wh- Bad?” 

Sapnap shushed him, but Skeppy turned his direction, eyes flashing. He looked like someone who shouldn’t be dangerous. But those eyes were angry. 

“Bad? Your new friend? Is that what you call him?”

“Skeppy--”

The man-- it was hard not to think of him as a boy, with that voice-- wheeled around again, angrily. “What do they even know about you, huh? Did you tell them anything? Or did you decide that you got to be someone else now, _Bad-Boy-Halo_ or whatever? 

“Skeppy, you muffin, please-” 

Bad was frightened. He was trying not to sound frightened, but Dream heard it, and it was more terrifying than anything else up to this point had been.

George stirred a little and Dream nudged him with his boot. He was starting to get worried. It was probably a bad sign if someone stayed unconscious for that long, and George had spent a lot of time in the last several months passed out. 

Most of that was Dream’s fault, but now was not the time to be dwelling on any of that. 

Sapnap was sputtering with rage. “Don’t talk to Bad like that, let us go! What’s your problem man?” 

“Ah, shut the fook up,” The woman said.

“Minx--” Bad said. 

“ _Language,_ I know,” she said, rolling her eyes. 

Whoever these people were, they clearly knew Bad. If that was even his name. What had Minx called him? Darryl? 

“You wanna know what my problem is?” Skeppy asked, glaring down at Sapnap. “Why don’t you ask your new best friend Bad? Do you even know what he is?”

Sapanp’s eyes were wide, but he held his ground. “Bad is my friend, and I trust him. He doesn’t have to tell me anything.”

Minx released a sharp laugh. “You really have no idea.”

“The Saint of Death,” Skeppy said, and the words rang through the empty room with unexpected solemnity, like the ringing of a church bell. “You’ve been traveling with the Saint of Death, and you had no idea.”

“Bad?” Dream asked hesitantly. _Please, please, tell us what’s happening._

Bad turned to look at him, and if his face was a letter it would have said, _I’m sorry._ “These are… my old… coworkers, I guess. Sapnap, before I met you, I was a hunter, but with them and some… other people. And then--”

“And then you left.” Skeppy’s words were biting. 

“I ran away.”

It was a long minute before anyone said something.

“I’m so sorry.” Dream wasn’t sure if Bad was talking to them, or their kidnappers. “I should have told you. I--” 

Another figure came gliding out of the shadows, behind Minx, making her jump. “Nix wants to see him now.” 

“Ah, piss off,” Minx said. “C’mon, Zak.” 

Dream didn’t miss the sudden glance between Skeppy and Bad. There was something complicated between them that Dream, even with his own rather complicated friendships, did not entirely understand. 

“Alright,” Skeppy said. “Let’s go.” 

************

Wilbur saw her before she saw him. The young woman standing by the crossroads, a bag slung over her shoulder and her nose buried in a map. That wouldn’t be unusual in the least; the coast road was traveled often enough, by all sorts of people. But she was wearing a long blue and white jacket, the same blue and white jacket Wilbur was wearing beneath his brown coat. 

A soldier then. Another soldier. 

Part of him wanted to turn around and walk the other direction. But his feet kept moving forward, right behind her. “Ah, sorry, are you lost?” 

She turned, startled, and he could see her taking him in, the way he had watched her. The broken boots, shabby coat, blue uniform, the heavy bag, the crutch under his arm. He supposed he was a rather pathetic sight. 

“Oh!” she said, “Sorry, I didn’t see you. Um, yes, a little bit.” her voice, Wilbur noticed, as he took the map she was offering him, was remarkably soft and gentle. He found himself smiling, a little bit. 

“Where are you going?” She pointed to the small dot on the map labeled “Cram.” and Wilbur laughed. “That’s a coincidence. I’m going just beyond, to Halt.”

“What’s in Halt?” 

“My Dad,” he rolled up the map and handed it back to her. “I’m Wilbur, by the way. Wilbur Soot.” 

“Niki.” 

They shook hands, and, in some unspoken agreement, began walking the same way. Wilbur didn’t know when they’d made the decision to travel together, but it had happened, and some part of him felt inexplicably relieved. 

“So what’s waiting for you in Cram?” 

Niki glanced at the ground. “I’m going to see a childhood friend, who might let me stay with him. My parents....” her voice trailed off, but Wilbur thought he could fill in the gaps between her spoken words. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, hastily changing the subject. “Are you on leave, then?” 

“Dismissed. I was injured last month, and they don’t think I’ll make a full recovery… at least not anytime soon.”

Wilbur glanced down at her (in comparison to his lanky frame she seemed humorously short) and tried to hide his surprise. She was walking beside him with comfortable ease, moving slowly to accommodate his limping pace. Unless you were useless, there was very little chance of getting away from Schlatt’s army. It was no secret that the Emperor's generals squeeze every last bit of use out of their soldiers.

A deserter than? It seemed likely. Wilbur wondered if he should resent her, for fleeing while he’d had to stay behind, but he didn’t. If he’d known what was coming, he would have run the first chance he’d gotten, consequences be damned. 

They walked onwards. Wilbur watched as she watched him out of the corner of her eye. He felt suddenly awkward, stumbling beneath the weight of his pack, the crutch digging uncomfortably into his armpit. 

“I could carry your bag for you.” Niki offered. “I’m traveling light.” 

He looked at her, really to bristle at the pity in her face, but was met only by quiet kindness. 

War had not changed the fact that Wilbur Soot liked kind people. 

“Thank you.” 

On they walked, eyes fixed on the horizon beyond them, and Wilbur smiled a little because it was good to not be alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed it, please feel free to leave me a comment. I'd love to hear your predictions for this story-- beyond being fun for me to read, they help me figure out how to tell the story better! 
> 
> I'd really like to start recommending fics at the end of the chapters, so for my first recommendation, read the East of Eden series by Subwaywalls. It's a lot of Sleepy Boys hurt and fluff, featuring superpowers and Angel!Philza, and such gorgeous writing, and it's of my new comfort fics. I even did some fanart for it, which is on my Tumblr (tea-with-veth) 
> 
> Thank you again for all your support<3


	3. deals with the devils

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bargains are struck, some are better than others.
> 
> CW: for what movies call "mild peril" and also some abusive language/actions. Nothing too intense, but be aware
> 
> Also, just to clarify, Nix is an original character!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I, uh, was planning to finish this by Saturday and instead speedran it in 12 hours. We'll see how long this new writing streak sticks... Anyway, enjoy the surprise update! We're setting up some plot, finally :) 
> 
> Thank you everyone for all the kudos and comments! Kudos help new readers find the story, and, of course, I LOVE reading your comments. This story is already growing so quickly as the readers of aahf are returning, and it's a little surprising to see. Thank you all so much!!!
> 
> Love and tea,  
> -Teahound <3

They marched him across the cavernous, shadowy room, Minx leading the way, Skeppy hovering somewhere behind him. Bad glanced back at the little pocket of light, where his friends were propped against the wall, watching him nervously. He wished he could say something reassuring or offer a comforting smile, but really, he had nothing. 

He was terrified. 

They brought him to the far end of the building, up some stairs, and through a door. 

It was a little rectangular room, with a window on one wall, looking out on the long warehouse below. A guard or foreman’s office perhaps. The sparse furniture was dilapidated nearly beyond use, and the glass panes were chipped and dusty. The place was illuminated by a couple of oil lamps, but Bad was looking at the figure emerging from a pocket of shadow. 

“Nix.” 

“Darryl,” she leaned forward, and Bad caught sight of a short black bob, a square forehead. It was a sharp face that looked older than a woman of thirty-something. But it was the heavy ring on her finger that got his attention. “Skeppy, you can untie him. No need for all that. He’s a smart boy.” the threat went unspoken. 

Skeppy cut the ropes off his wrists, and Bad saw that his face was frightened too. He didn’t know what was happening either then. 

“So,” he said, carefully, testing his ground. “I see you came out on top.” he nodded at the ring. “Congratulations on your new position as the head of the Library.” 

Nix gave him a bored look. “Cut the flattery, Darryl. I never liked you, and you never liked me. You deserted the Library, I could have Zak stab you in the back right now and no one would complain.” 

Bad heard Skeppy make a quiet strangled sound behind him and felt weirdly hopeful. He thought he knew someone who would complain. “Honestly, I’d really prefer if you didn’t. What do you want Nix?” 

“Let’s make a deal, then. I need a hunter.”

“You know you have a lot of hunters at your disposal.”

“I need a _good hunter._ And you’re the best. I need the Saint of Death.” 

“I gave up the title when I left. I’m sorry, but I’m not working for you.”

“And you’re a fool if you think you have a choice. No one leaves the Library.”

He’d known that. Bad had known that the day he ran away from everything he’d ever known, and swore he’d never kill for the Library again. That he’d fight for himself from then on. But somewhere along the way, he’d forgotten that small, terrible fact. Maybe it was because he’d found friends, or because he’d started believing he was safe. Nix was right. He was a fool. 

She stood, finally, crossing the room and looking out the dusty window. Below he could glimpse the light on the far side of the warehouse, and the small shapes of his three friends.

“Let me put my cards on the table, Darryl. I know what you’ve been doing these last months. I know you’ve been running a successful mercenary group called _The Dream Team._ I know that your friend George is wanted as a deserter by his military unit. I know that the one you call Sapnap has a bounty on his head for being a debt-dodger. And, if what I’ve been told is correct, you have a supremely interesting friend called ‘Dream.’ Someone who might be rather useful to the Library, if my theories are right.” 

“No!” he said it without thinking, and with a fierceness that felt like it didn’t belong to him. _No. They’re my friends, you cannot hurt them, you cannot have them._

Nix gave him a disappointed look and backhanded him. He felt his face sting where that gold ring cut into it. There was blood dripping off his chin. “Let me make myself entirely clear. If you do not take this mission and complete it for me with your new little friends, you will be doing it alone. I showed you my cards, Darryl, and I have all the aces. So sit down, and listen."

Bad sat down. He listened. 

************  
The night was closing in around them, the first stars coming out as a broken-down barn stood scarlet against the sunset. The sound of waves crashing against a cliffside was echoing from somewhere to their left, and Wilbur watched as Niki sighed happily. “It’s a gorgeous evening.”

Wilbur hadn’t noticed the beautiful evenings in a long time. He’d spent too many days trapped inside his own head, he supposed. Niki was good for him. He’d used up the afternoon telling her stories about growing up in Halt, about the trouble he’d get up to when Phil wasn’t paying attention. He liked making her laugh. She’d throw her head up to the sky and double over and he’d start laughing too. 

He hadn’t laughed in a long time, too, and he hadn't realized it until now. It was like a weight had been taken off his shoulders. Well, a weight had been taken off his shoulders-- she was still carrying his pack-- but there was something more. 

Wilbur gestured to the tiny copse of trees bordering a field, not far from the road. “I was thinking of camping there for the night?” he phrased it carefully, trying to make it a question, silently offering to let her take her leave, but she nodded and began trudging across the field, glancing back to make sure he could find footing on the half-frozen ridges of earth. 

He hadn’t been in the habit of making a fire at night, despite the cold. It was always too exhausting, or time-consuming, or he hadn’t seen the point when he had nothing to cook. But, as he slowly lowered himself to the ground, Niki was already busy with a tinderbox, coaxing flame to life, and picking through his pack for his barely used cooking supplies. “I’m sorry, I haven’t got anything to make except easy porridge,” she said like she needed to apologize.  
Wilbur shook himself from his tired stupor and scooted closer. 

“No, no, no, let me,” he said, and she offered him the tin ladle, before going to find water. 

They ate until they were full, and had some left over for the morning, and Wilbur was content. 

It was such a difference, the little things. Seeing a sunset for what felt like the first time, laughter, food.

Niki nodded sleepily at his guitar, which he’d propped up against a tree “Do you play?”

“I haven’t in a while,” he admitted, fetching the instrument, inspecting it sadly. His weeks of travel hadn’t been at all good for it, and one of the strings was broken and he had no way to fix it. “It belonged to a friend in the army.” _A friend who never came back,_ he wanted to add, but he thought that Niki might understand that. 

Instead, he strummed a chord and laughed at how painfully out of tune it sounded. Niki giggled, and then suddenly stiffened, her eyes staring wide. At him? Or something just beyond-- 

“Oi bitch!” said a painfully loud voice behind him, and he felt the terrifying sensation of cold steel settling against his neck. “You’re being _mugged._ ” 

***********  
Bad sat and listened as Nix told him what he was going to have to do in order to save his friends, and the longer he listened the more worried he got.

“Our people intercepted a message between two Calestrian spies earlier this winter. Apparently, one of their most talented agents has been smuggled across our borders in order to find something, which they’ve been calling ‘the pearl.” And whatever 'the pearl" is, it could potentially bring this war to a close.” 

There was, Bad reflected, only one way this war ended, and he shivered a little despite himself. He was not personally invested in Schlatt’s meaningless conflict, but he suspected Calestria would have little mercy for his homeland if they won. 

“Unfortunately for us, we weren’t the only ones to find this information. Schlatt’s men now have wind of the Calestrian and are hunting them down.”

“You want to find the spy before Schlatt does,” Bad said, finally understanding. The cut on his cheek made speaking hurt, but he ignored it. “And then trade him and whatever information you get to the highest bidder? And you want me to do it, so if I fail, or get caught by Schlatt's people I won't be traced back to the Library.” 

“You _are_ smart.” Nix gave him a little mocking smile, and he felt his stomach churn. “There is good news though. Minx, darling, if you would?”

Minx made a face and went to fetch a small chest from a back table, dumping it unceremoniously into Nix’s hands. The head Librarian handed him a scrap of paper, no bigger than his thumbnail. “Be careful with it.”

Turning it gently over in his hands he saw nothing, no defining marks, nothing but a bit of parchment. “Is this…” 

“I assume you still have your compass,” she said. Bad nodded. George was in charge of it, technically, but she didn’t need to know that. “This piece of paper will take you to the rest of the paper. Which, unless I am very very wrong-- and I hope for your sake I am not-- will take you directly to your quarry.”

“And when we find them?”

“The Calestrian? I want them alive. Bring them back to the Capital, to headquarters.”

Bad stared at his hands. He felt Nix’s eyes in front of him, Zak’s watching the back of his head. He, with whatever fragment of the gift he had, sensed the beating hearts of his three friends sitting on the warehouse floor. “And then?” 

“And then your friends can go wherever they like. And you’ll be welcomed back into our family- into the Library--with open arms.”

She wasn’t even trying to hide the lie, and it made him angry. 

And there was nothing he could do.

And she Nix knew it.

“It’s settled then. Zak, darling, escort Darryl out, would you? And Minx, go set his friends loose, or whatever.” she turned to give Bad one last look before Skeppy led him out the door. “I expect to see you, successful, in the Capital. Preferably before it’s too late.”

************

Wilbur Soot had not been mugged before. As a kid, he’d rather thought it might be an exciting experience. Especially if Phil was there. Small Wilbur Soot had a lot of faith in his father’s ability to defeat an alley full of muggers.

Now he was being held at knifepoint and regretting everything. Being mugged was like gambling except the dealer was an excitable blond teenager with a weapon, and you were playing with your life instead of poker chips. 

Two teenagers, to be more precise. The other was much shorter, quieter, and decidedly miffed. “Tommy, shut up, don’t shout.”

“I do what I want, Tubbo,” the other- Tommy, apparently - shouted. “Come on, put your hands up, you’re being robbed!”

Wilbur stuck his hands cautiously in the air, trying to not look incredibly indignant, and failing miserably. “Listen here you little shit--” he grunted as he felt a jab in the ribs, “Hey watch where you’re poking that thing!”

“Don’t tell me what to do, or I’ll--oh I’ll start stabbing shit.”

Niki looked like she was trying not to laugh, which wasn’t helping anything. The short one, Tubbo, appeared equal parts annoyed and apologetic. He had a knife too, which was unenthusiastically being waved in Niki’s direction. 

“You’re being robbed!” the blond menace repeated, “Tubbo, look through that pack, okay?” He gave Wilbur another experimental poke. _If it wasn’t for this dumb leg I’d have him in a headlock right now,_ Wilbur thought grimly. “Hand over your money!”

“I’m going to be perfectly honest and tell you that I have almost no money.”

“That’s still money, innit?”

“Hey, I need it so I can _eat._ What if I die of starvation because some bully stole my wallet, huh?” 

“Do I look like I give a--”

Niki’s voice cut through the chaos. “What if we make a deal?” 

Tommy went quiet if only for a moment, looking suddenly curious. Tubbo seemed wary. “What kind of deal?”

“We’ve got food. You both look hungry. You can eat with us and stay the night, and we’ll give you what we can spare when you leave in the morning.”

“I mean-” Tubbo started hesitantly, but then Tommy cut in.

“What’s in it for us?”

“We don’t send guards after you next time we reach a city.” 

There was an uncomfortably long pause. They did, Wilbur noticed, look rather hungry. The blond kid had unhealthily hollow-looking cheeks, and the one named Tubbo was wearing a dirty oversized green shirt with the buttons done wrong. But still, there were limits. “Niki, we’re not feeding the kids who are trying to rob us!” 

“They’re starving, clearly!”

“This one is literally about to stab me in the eye if he isn’t careful.”

Tommy gave him a sour look. “Who are you calling a kid? I’m a big man, _bitch._ What are you, a beta male?”

“Child.”

Niki sighed and turned to Tubbo, clearly hoping to appeal to the more sensible of the duo. “It’s the best offer you’re going to get.”

Tubbo cocked his head to the side, considering. “What if we just killed you and then took your stuff?” 

Okay, maybe not the more sensible of the duo. “Then you’ll be wanted for murder, instead of petty thieving,” he said, hoping he sounded calm and reasonable. 

“They will actually kill you,” Niki sounded legitimately worried. What, had she gotten attached to the children waving knives in their faces? Unbelievable. 

The boys frowned at one another, before stepping aside into a little huddle by the fire to discuss. 

“Okay,” Tubbo said finally, “It’s a deal.” 

He and Niki shook hands. Wilbur and Tommy watched with disapproval. “I thought you shouldn’t negotiate with terrorists,” Wilbur said, as Niki began spooning leftovers onto their tin plates.

“They’re not terrorists, they’re kids.”

“Oi!” 

The boys ate with ferocity, and Wilbur tried desperately to stomp out any semblance of sudden empathy. No, he was not going to feel sorry for the kid who had very nearly stabbed him a few minutes before. Absolutely not. 

He scooted over to where Niki was sitting, watching. “And how do we know they’re not going to murder us in their sleep?” 

“I’ll take watch. But,” she added, with a cautious optimism he both admired and was vaguely disgusted by, “I think they’re really not that bad.”

Wilbur was decidedly unconvinced. “Well, I’ll take first watch then. You should get some sleep.” 

“Wake me up about midnight, then.” 

Niki wrapped herself up in her worn blue jacket and dozed off with enviable ease. A few minutes later, Wilbur glanced behind him and saw that Tubbo had fallen asleep curled against Tommy. Wilbur gave him a look that said _that’s fucking adorable._

Tommy wrinkled his nose in an expression that clearly meant _fuck off._

Wilbur leaned back against the tree, and picked up the abandoned guitar, and, for the first time in a long time, tried to pick out a quiet tune.

When he looked back again, Tommy was asleep too. 

*************

Skeppy led him through a back door, and out to a dim alley, somewhere in the maze of the city streets. The sun had set, and Bad tried to shake off the confusion that came with being knocked out and stored in a warehouse for what must have been several hours. “Minx will bring your stuff. And your-- your new friends.”

They stood, facing one another, for a long, tense second. “Skeppy,” Bad started, “Zak-”

“Don’t bother.” 

“Wha-- Of course I’m going to bother. You’re my friend!”

Skeppy didn’t reply, just raised a disbelieving eyebrow. 

“Skeppy,” Bad said again, and he grabbed his hands. “You are my friend. _My best friend._ I- I missed you a lot.”

He watched Skeppy’s eyes widen, and then was tackled in a tight hug. “I wasn’t mad you left, Darryl-”

“Bad. Please. It’s Bad now.”

Skeppy pulled back. He’d always understood the need to create a name, a new identity to cover up the old one as if it made you a different person, a better person. That’s why he was Skeppy for his friends and Zak to the rest of the library. “Okay, then, Bad. I wasn’t mad you left, really. I’m just mad you left without-- without me.”

Oh. 

“I’m sorry. I mean it. I should have--”

“It’s okay, just--”

They stared at one another for a long long moment. Friendship was a complicated thing, in the twisted, competitive world they’d grown up together in. But they’d managed it, despite the odds, despite being pitted against each other again and again. They’d fought to stay intact, one unit instead of two enemies, and, looking back, it seemed rather stupid to Bad that he thought he’d somehow broken them completely by leaving. But still. “I shouldn’t have left you. I’m really, _really,_ sorry.” 

His friend was retrieving a somewhat dirty bandana from some pocket or another and was trying to carefully wipe the blood off Bad’s face. “Gentle” wasn’t exactly a Skeppy trademark, but he was managing remarkably well. “I forgive you, idiot.” 

“Language.”

“That’s not even-- you know what? I changed my mind, I definitely haven’t missed having you around.” 

They laughed, and suddenly it seemed like nothing had changed after all. 

“You know,” Skeppy said, suddenly somber, “Nix is lying. You’re not getting out of this. And your friends--”

“Yeah,” it hurt to admit it, but Bad had known that he’d run out of time the moment he’d heard his old friend’s voice at the door. “I know. I’m just worried about my-- my new friends. They don’t deserve to be dragged into my mess.”

“You care a lot about them,” Skeppy said, and that touch of envy still lingered on the edge of his voice. 

“Yes. But, Skeppy, really and truly, it’s not the same.”

His best friend looked at him gratefully. “Well, you’d better think of something quick. Because Nix--”

They both knew what Nix would do. One didn’t claw their way to the top of the Library without a lot of blood on their hands. 

Bad started at the sound of voices echoing down the alleyway, and he caught the sound of George groggily saying, “I don’t understand--” and Minx incoherently shouting something back.

“I guess it’s goodbye, again,” Skeppy mumbled. 

“I’ll be back,” Bad did his best to sound determined, and then, with sudden inspiration, ripped a tattered patch from his sweatshirt and pressed it into Skeppy’s hand. “And if you ever need to find me again…”

Skeppy hesitated, “Okay, then, D-- Bad,” he smiled, not exactly a happy smile, but not a bitter one either, and then, with one of his daggers, cut a matching piece from his own sweater. 

With a compass, they’d be able to find one another from anywhere in the world. 

It felt like a promise. 

“Well.”

“Well.”

It was Bad who offered the hug first, and they clung to one another. It was a hello and a goodbye, and all the spoken and unspoken words they’d said. _I missed you_ and _you’re my best friend_ and _I love you_ and _hello again_ and _goodbye._

And then Skeppy pulled the hood over his head and melted into the misty evening, just as Minx and the three very confused hunters came into view.

Bad had a lot of explaining to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For this day's fanfic recommendation, check out my friends' (khaoticwoes on ao3) story, Honeycomb. I'm an editor for the story, and I've been watching it develop over the course of the last several months. It's a Tangled AU with some phenomenal worldbuilding, some really fun characterizations, and a plot I know is going to break and heal my heart so many times. 
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/27763843/chapters/67963672
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! I'll see you at the next update :)


	4. steps in the right direction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gordan Ramsey voice: "Finally, some good f******g fluff"
> 
> I sent this to my editor and she informed me that "bad only gets 3% of the hugs he deserves" so I tried to fix that. Unfortunately, if I were to write all the hugs Bad deserves, this would be a much longer fic and it would mostly be hugging.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This update is a tad late, but in my defense, I was lazy. 
> 
> Thank you guys so much for all the love you send my way every single week! It means a lot! :D

“Okay,” George said. “Are you going to tell us what’s going on?”

They sat around the campfire, by the shores of a small lake a few hours outside of the city. Sapnap looked like he wanted to go back to sleep, a bandage wrapped around his head, courtesy of Bad. He’d decided to forgo a pillow in favor of resting his head of Dream’s lap. Dream had loudly complained of the indignity of being used as a headrest, but now George was watching him put little braids in Sapnap’s shaggy hair, so he must not have minded so much after all.    
  


Bad sat across from them, firelight reflecting off his chipped glasses, his expression impossible to read. He’d barely spoken since they’d left the city, and George hadn’t missed the way he glanced over his shoulder as they walked or the expression of exhausted misery plastered across his face. “Yeah. Okay.” 

“Bad,” Dream said earnestly, looking up from Sapnap’s hair with, “you don’t have to. We trust you. If you want to keep it your secret, we-”

But Bad shook his head, eyes fixed on his hands. “No. You guys deserve to hear the truth. I should have told you earlier, and I’m sorry.”

George hesitated and then moved to sit by Bad, unsure of himself, but feeling the desperate need to help, do to  _ something.  _ “We’re listening.”

“Okay. Okay.” Bad glanced up at them, hands twisting nervously together, “you all know what I’m a little...different, right?” he sounded like a teacher, trying to explain something to a classroom of small children, in that endearing way of his. “I feel things differently. I understand, I don’t know,  _ life  _ a little better. Some people are like that; It’s called The Gift, or The Touched, depending on who you ask. I guess it’s basically magic, but very small magic. It makes me better at healing other people, or even sensing their emotions. It’s like seeing whatever force gives things  _ life  _ a little more clearly.” he looked at Dream. “Some people say the Touched were descended from spirits, or given their abilities by an especially powerful spirit.” 

“Isn’t that, like, a cleric thing?” Sapnap sat up, suddenly interested. “Back home, there was a cleric in our town who Dad said had a gift, but I guess I’d never really thought about it.”

Bad nodded. “A lot of people like me end up becoming clerics.”

“But you didn’t,” George prompted. 

“No.” he seemed to not know how to continue, at some impasse. Finally, he looked up at them again, and there was so much uncertainty about him, that George didn’t really know how to feel. He looked up to Bad- they all did. They depended on him; after all, he was the one who’d brought them together. He’d saved their lives, more times than they could count, and in more ways than one. Seeing him like this was like watching a parent cry: George felt suddenly like the foundation of reality was slightly off-kilter. 

They watched as Bad rolled up the sleeve on his sweatshirt, revealing the dark, intricate tattoo on his arm, the one they’d asked about so often, and gotten nothing but vague, joking responses. “This is the mark of a group of people who call themselves The Library. They- oh, I’m not sure how to explain it. They’re archivists, and healers, but they also-- they like to control things. They have a hand in a lot of underground operations, and they do a l.”

“Like, what, the mafia?” Sapnap sounded a little incredulous, and George smacked his arm. 

  
Dream frowned a little, “Is this a bad time to ask what a mafia is?”

George snorted. “An organization that does illegal stuff.”

“You were a criminal?”

“I mean,” George interjected, “technically we’re all criminals.” 

“Oh.” Dream looked a little worried. “And the Library, those were the people who kidnapped us this morning, right? So how did you end up working for them in the first place? Sorry, but they don’t really seem like your kind of group.”

“I didn’t really have a choice,” Bad said, looking back down at his hands again. “The Library looks for Touched children-- ones with the gift-- and trains them when they’re young. I grew up there.”

Sapnap scooted closer. “Wait, but what about your family?” 

“I have no idea. I was very young. I don’t remember.”

They stared at him, incredulous. He shifted uncomfortably, aware of their stares. 

George was suddenly reorganizing every snippet of information his friend had let slip in light of this new puzzle piece. His familiarity with the twisted world of the criminal underground that George, the country born-and-raised son of nobility, had found terrifying and impossible to understand. The fact that he was clearly a trained healer, but a more deadly fighter. And those little details too: The way Bad preferred to camp, instead of staying in the city. He rarely lower his hood, his face always shadowed. Those daggers he kept close, even when he slept. “What was it like, then?” he asked cautiously, almost afraid to know.

Bad shrugged. “It took me a long time to understand how bad it really was. I had friends too, it wasn’t all-- Skeppy, he was--” he struggled to pin down the right words. “Skeppy is my best friend.”

“He didn’t seem very happy to see you?”

“Well,” there was another long pause, “well, he had a right to be angry. You see, earlier this year, maybe nine months ago, the leader of the Library died. Well, he got assassinated, and his successor too. And then suddenly there was a huge power vacuum, and a lot of infighting started. Everyone wanted to take control. Some people expected me to take charge, but I never wanted to.”

“ _ You? _ ” Sapnap looked delighted and shocked at the same time. “In charge of the mafia?” 

“I was pretty popular. I-- they trained us as assassins. I was one of the best.” 

“The Saint of Death.” Dream’s voice was small and quiet. “That was your title?”

It felt like an official declaration. A man standing on a podium, shouting  _ I’m sorry, but your friend isn’t what you thought he was. He had a life before you, and it’s one you can’t even begin to understand _ . 

Bad nodded, glancing between them as if he was trying to read their thoughts off their face. The expression was so familiar, so incredibly like Bad, that George felt his chest swell with sudden certainty. He might not know everything, but he knew his friend. 

“Yeah. But I had realized that it wasn’t a good place. So I ran away. And then I met you.”

“And then they found you again? But they let us go? So what did they want?” George asked.

So he told them what had happened, while they were tied up in the warehouse. About Nix, apparently an old rival of his, and now the leader of the Library. About her threats, and the mission she’d sent them on. “I’m sorry,” he finished, “I shouldn’t have dragged you all into this. I somehow thought I’d gotten away. I didn’t mean to put you all in danger like this. But I know what we have to do.” He didn’t give them a chance to interject. “We have to split up. I’m sorry, but Nix won’t let you go. She’ll either keep you around to hold over my head so I’ll cooperate or---” he didn’t finish the sentence, he didn’t need to. 

“We can’t let her find you. Sapnap, you should probably go South. You might have to leave the country, but I can probably arrange to get you the papers you’d need to cross the border. George, I know you’re not going back to your parents-” George made a face of disgusted agreement, “but you should go see if some of your family might be able to help. They’ve got money, and could at least get you away. Dream--”

“Wait.” Sapnap was looking at Bad with a look of absolute horror. “What about you?”

“I’ll be going to find the spy.” 

“Alone?”

“If I get Nix what she wants, then maybe she’ll forget about you. You’ll be safe.”

“But you,” George murmured, “what is she going to do to  _ you? _ ”

Bad didn’t answer, but he didn’t need to. They saw an answer written across his face. Sapnap looked at George and George looked at Dream, and they knew what they were going to say. 

“No.” Dream said.   
  


George shook his head and put a hand on Bad's shoulder. “Absolutely not.”

“Fuck no!”

“Sapnap language! And you don’t understand. You can’t, you-- you muffins!” 

“Bad we’re not gonna leave you.” Sapnap made his way around the fire and wrapped his arms around his friend from behind, resting his chin on top of his head. “Not when you need our help! Don’t you remember how we met? You knocked out a couple of assh-- guys with a brick to save me. You’ve been taking care of me, of all of us for  _ months.” _

“We’re not going to let you sacrifice yourself to save us.” George snapped. “We’re a team. Family, right? You told us that, and it doesn’t just go one way.”

Dream came to join them, taking Bad’s hand and clinging to it like he was trying to physically keep Bad there. “You guys came back for me. You almost died to save me from Technoblade. I’m not going to leave you now.” he tackled the older hunter in a fierce hug, nearly knocking him over. “You’re stuck with us, Bad.” 

George laughed weakly and attacked from the other side, completing the group hug. They were a tangle of arms and heads and suddenly they were all laughing, as Sapnap tried to tickle George, and Dream avoiding George’s suddenly flailing legs, and accidentally hit Bad in the face, and Bad’s glasses got lost somewhere in the chaos and they all had to stop and look for them before they got sat on. 

Bad was blinking furiously. “I love you guys. I just really don’t want anything happening to you.” 

“We’ll be fine,” George said a little more brusquely than he meant to. “Let’s go find the spy.” he pulled out the compass, which Bad had entrusted to his care all those months ago, and pressed it into Bad’s hand. “Maybe we’ll figure out a better option on the way, but for now, we’ve got a mission. And Bad,” he added, “We love you too.” 

  
****************

Wilbur Soot was dreaming of the worst night of his life.

He was walking through a field of mud, feet dragged down by the mire. He tried to look up at the sky, desperately trying to find a glimpse of sun or starlight or any promise of a world beyond the battlefield, but smoke stung his eyes, and he couldn’t seem to move his neck. Instead, his eyes remained locked on the dirt beneath his feet. The more he looked, the more frightening it was. Here was a hand, there a screaming face, over there a skeletal figure halfway submerged in muddy water. 

Wilbur Soot was walking across a field of corpses and he couldn’t stop. Horror welled up in him, and he felt panic freeze his bones, but he could not stop walking. It felt like he’d been walking forever, possessed by something that wasn’t him, that wouldn’t let him rest. 

“Snap out of it, loser.”

A voice, behind him, a living voice in this place of dead things. Wilbur started as he felt a hand on his shoulder, and suddenly his body was his own again. He turned, and found he was in a different place entirely. Somewhere windswept and high up in a pale pink sky stained with smoke. It smelled like smoke too, but something different than the bitter scent of gunpowder. Sweet and toxic and grounding. 

“Where--Who-” 

And there was the person who had somehow summoned him here. They’d already turned away, but Wilbur recognized that long elaborate pink braid and crown, ruffled white shirt, and scarlet cloak. 

“Hey!”

The figure paused and looked back. There was something... _ inhuman  _ about that face. Maybe it was the red eyes. Or the tusks. Yeah, either of those could be it. It was the person who had been there the night before. And the night before that. And the night before that, stretching back in a row of nightmares, to that very real nightmarish day on the front lines, when Wilbur Soot had almost died. And been saved by a mysterious figure in red who he didn’t  _ quite  _ remember. 

  
“Who,” Wilbur’s tongue felt like it wasn’t working right. “Who are you?” 

“Uh,” said the figure. 

They stared at one another for a long and awkward moment. Wilbur saw now that he was on the gently sloping roof of an oversized building. There were dozens of buildings around, and the smoke was pouring peacefully from ugly brick smokestacks in the distance. Some industrial sector of a city he didn’t recognize. “Are you real?” he asked, stepping closer. Curiosity and fear were tugging at him, but, per usual for Wilbur, curiosity was winning. “Is this still a dream?”

“You’re dreamin’,” the man-- could he call it a man? It seemed a little presumptuous-- sighed and sat down on the edge of the brick roof, legs dangling over the edge. He hesitated and then motioned in a way that seemed to clumsily suggest that Wilbur was welcome to join him. 

Wilbur had never been particularly shy around people, but this was a strange red-eyed dream-person who wanted him to sit on the edge of a roof. 

_ But  _ the strange dream-person had repeatedly saved his dream-life. He went and sat. The ground was at least fifteen feet below, a narrow sooty alley, but Wilbur felt surprisingly secure. His leg didn’t hurt either, for the first time ages, and when he thought about it hard enough he became aware that he was living on dream-logic, and even if he fell it probably wouldn’t even hurt. “So, if I’m dreaming, what are you?”

The figure shrugged. “A figment of your imagination.” he had a deep, monotone voice that sounded as fearsome as he looked. 

“Does the figment of my imagination have a name?”

The figure laughed-- a surprisingly genuine laugh for such a terrifying voice. “Techno.” 

“Techno.”

  
“Yeah. Uh, want a drink?” 

“Sure. This dream is weird enough already, why not?” 

  
Techno laughed again-- it was strangely gratifying-- and produced a hip flask from some fold of that red cape. As he passed it over, Wilbur could see that his hand was the least human thing about him. There was skin there, for part of it, but most of the hand was some strange combination of metal, gears, and wire in golds and coppers and silvers. It looked like the inside of an elaborate pocket-watch that imitated a human hand to a frightening degree. It was a surreal sight.    
  
He was definitely dreaming.    
  


The liquor in the flask burned his throat, the sensation familiar and comforting in the midst of his confusion. Ahead of him, the sky was growing lighter, and pinker, with touches of blue so pale it was almost white. The sun must be rising somewhere beyond those silhouetted smokestacks. “So, beyond being Techno, the figment of my imagination, what else are you?”

“Heh. A king, I suppose.” Techno adjusted the crown, a little self-consciously. 

  
“A king? That explains the metal hand.” 

“Ah, yes. All kings have metal hands.” he lifted it up, and Wilbur could hear it clicking and whirring as the light caught it. “Nah, this is a ‘me’ thing. Some moron shot me this fall.” 

“And you grew a metal hand?”

“Obviously.” 

It was Wilbur’s turn to laugh. He took another drink and passed the flask back over to Techno. He felt free. Not just of pain, but free of that haunted, hunted feeling that had chased him all the way from the battlefield. Maybe it was the alcohol talking, or maybe, on this surreal rooftop, you rose above your demons, and they couldn’t catch you. It was just him and a king on a rooftop, watching the sunrise over a smokey city. “This is the best dream I’ve had in a long time.” 

“We could do it again.” 

“Please,” Wilbur said, because, as ridiculous as it was, this felt like a charm against nightmares. Techno’s quiet presence felt like a promise of a morning where he didn’t have to wake remembering and afraid. 

“Well then, nerd. See you tomorrow night.” 

Techno pushed him off the roof. 

Wilbur fell and fell, and woke up with a gasp, and a smile that hadn’t quite faded. 

*************

Dream slept with one eye open. 

George had asked him to. They all were afraid, and Dream didn’t sleep enough anyway. 

Sure enough, sometime right before sunrise, he watched Bad quietly wake up, roll up his bedding, and pack his bag. Then he produced the compass George had offered him the night before and fiddled with it a moment.

And then he set off across the field. 

Dream nudged George awake with his foot, and took off after his friend, pulling on his coat as he walked to ward off the wintery morning chill. Frost crunched underfoot, and there was birdsong as a red-winged blackbird skimmed across the grass. 

He caught up to Bad by the roadside, where the hunter was consulting the compass and their worn-out map. “Hey.”

Bad had the grace to look guilty, starting around to look at him. “Dream-”

“What are you doing?” the words sounded disappointed and affectionate in equal measures.    
  


“What does it look like, you muffin?” Bad was disappointed and affectionate too. “ Leaving.”

“ _ Bad- _ ” 

“No, no, no. You listen here. I can’t let you guys get hurt because of Nix. Or me. Dream, she knows what you are. They’ll drag you back with them, and they’ll find some way to use you. And Sapnap will be turned in for the bounty, and George too, and, and--”

Dream sighed and grabbed his friend’s wrist, keeping him there. “I don’t think you understand. We’ll be hurt if you leave. What about the others? You know that Sapnap will feel absolutely betrayed. And George too.”

“I’d rather that than them dying!” 

Dream frowned. “You came back for me. I nearly watched all of you die. Multiple times. Because of me. But you came back, and you’ve told me you never regretted it, and I believe you. Please, let us help you.”

Bad gave him a bitterly sweet smile. “It feels wrong to ask you to do any of this.”

“You’re not asking. We’re demanding. We’re gonna stick with you Bad, and we’re going to find a way out of this.”

“I don’t think--”

“ _ I promise, _ ” Dream said, and he suddenly pressed his forehead against Bad’s, before pulling him into a hug, wrapping his arms tightly around him until his friend finally released a tiny sigh, and returned it, resting his forehead against Dream’s chest. “It’s our turn to look after you, okay?” 

The cold nipped at their noses, but the rising sun lost somewhere among the mist, warmed their faces. Bad extricated himself from the hug, looked down at the compass in his hand, and slipped it into his pocket. “Okay.” he said, “let's go back and get some breakfast.”

*********

Niki was making breakfast. 

Tommy was still sprawled out snoring gently on the ground. Someone had draped a blanket over him. Tubbo, the short brunette, was sitting cross-legged on a tree stump, talking quietly and watching as Niki added a handful of dried fruit to the second helping of porridge. In the morning light, Wilbur got a better look at their new ruffian friend. Tubbo looked younger than anyone with their own knife should and was wearing a mishmash of oversized closed, and undersized shoes with the toes sticking out the ends; it was a wonder he didn’t have frostbite. There was dirt on his face, along with every other visible surface. If there was a stereotypical orphan waif, Tubbo fit the mold pretty neatly. All that was lacking was an empty, hungry, look in the eyes; one look, and Wilbur instantly saw a spark of quiet mischief he couldn’t help but approve of. 

“Good morning Wil!” Niki said, and Wilbur groggily wondered when she had started calling him that. It felt like friendship. “You look very sleepy.” 

“Do I look that bad?” he ran a hand through his curly sleep-mussed hair and gave her a grin so she knew he was teasing. “Also, good morning.”

“You do look terrible,” Tubbo said, so matter-of-factly that Wilbur had to look up at the twinkle in his eye to realize he was teasing too. “Did you have a nightmare or something?” 

“It was actually a good dream, for once. Well, a very strange one.” Techno. That was the name, right? Now that he was awake, he was suddenly aware of how very un-dreamlike the whole thing had been. If he thought about it hard enough he could almost taste liquor on his tongue. What had happened? 

“I don’t have dreams,” Tubbo said. “Oh, thank you, Niki,” he took the plate she was offering him, blowing at the hot food. “This is so good.”

“Thank you!” she offered Wilbur a plate. “Should we wake Tommy up?”

“Let him sleep. He has nightmares too, y’know.”

They settled around the smoldering fire. The scene was oddly domestic. It reminded Wilbur, in some distant way, of early mornings with his Dad, before he headed out to school, and his father began a long day in the fields around their home. “So,” he said, around a mouthful of food, “where do you two come from, Tubbo?” 

“It’s kind of a long story,” Tubbo was talking with his mouth full. 

“Parents?”

Tubbo shook his head. “I haven’t got any, and I don’t know about Tommy. I found him last month, trying to pick pockets rather badly, so I started looking after him.”

“ _ You’re _ looking after  _ him _ ?” Niki’s sounded disbelieving. There was something funny about a scrap of a boy taking care of his loudmouth friend.

“I don’t know who he was before he ended up alone, but he’s kind of helpless.” Tubbo scraped the plate clean. “He keeps picking fights, or trying to steal things and just immediately getting caught. Once he got arrested and I had to break him out again. We were doing pretty good in the city, but once the draft notice went out, I thought we’d better leave.”

It was Wilbur’s turn to offer a look of disbelief. “There’s no way you’re old enough for the draft. Tommy’s what, seventeen at most? And you’re--”

“I’m sixteen, I think.”

Wilbur leaned back. “Well, I don’t know what you were worried about then. Neither of you is eligible.”

Tubbo gave him a look now, one of confusion. “You haven’t heard then?”

“Heard what?”

“Emperor Schlatt lowered the draft age by two years a few weeks ago. Tommy and I are both eligible. And when we left guards were already snatching some of the street kids.”

“ _ Schlatt did what? _ ”

Wilbur looked at the boy sitting in front of him. He looked a bit gaunt, but his round face made him seem even younger than sixteen. A kid. And Tommy who, despite his flashy knife-waving tendencies, wore an expression of quiet worry on his face in sleep. 

They were  _ children _ . 

Suddenly he was remembering soldiers pulling him off his front porch, his Dad standing helplessly, watching. 

He’d been years older than these two, and he hadn’t been ready. 

“Did you know?” he asked Niki.

She looked grim. “I saw a notice up in the last town.”

Wilbur had probably walked right past it. Lost in his own fog-filled brain, he hadn’t been paying attention. He was ashamed. “This-- it’s not right.”

“No.” Niki said. “It’s not.” 

Their eyes met, and he saw that Niki wore an expression of quiet determination. She probably was seeing the same thing in him. Hating Schlatt was a dangerous occupation, but Wilbur was ready to take a risk for himself. 

“Alright. Shit. Okay.” he was thinking out loud. “Tubbo, do you and Tommy want to come with us?” 

“Where are you going?” Tubbo asked cautiously. The kid looked almost hopeful, and Wilbur suddenly knew that he wasn’t making a mistake. 

“Niki is going to see a friend in Cram, east along the coast. And I’m heading just beyond, to Halt.”

Niki cut in. “We don’t have much, but we’d be happy to share. You two are much less likely to get grabbed if you’re with us. Especially since we’re both in uniform.”

It wasn’t much. In the face of an entire Empire two tired soldiers keeping two dirty boys safe felt like very, very little. But, Wilbur reflected, it was something. One little rebellion, an act of defiant protection if the face of the thing that had broken them. It seemed to Wilbur that it was a step in the right direction. 

“I’ll have to see what Tommy says.”

Wilbur leaned back and snatched the boy’s blanket. “Hey, sleepyhead, wake up!”

“Fuck off,” Tommy muttered, hand skittering wildly around for the blanket.   
  


“Want to travel with me and Niki?”

“Whatever.” he finally managed to find the blanket dangling from Wilbur’s hand and grab it back, wrapping it around himself with a sleepy glare. “You dick.”

Tubbo laughed. “I guess it’s settled then.” 

Okay, then. He’d just accidentally adopted a couple of kids. Who had tried to mug him. Of course, he had.

It occurred to him, somewhere in the back of his mind, that Phil would be rather proud.    


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This update's recommendation is "you're human tonight" by chrysalizzm. They've crafted a beautiful story about Dream, set in the SMP, and told through the perspective of its residents. It's the kind of writing that motivates me to be a better author myself and keeps me up until 3 AM with no regrets. Definitely worth at least one read-through (I'm gonna be re-reading it for ages though) 
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/27408277/chapters/66989824


	5. I ain’t at home (home’s where I’m going)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Travel montage pog
> 
> The chapter title is from the song "kings" by Tribe Society (one of the songs on this project's playlist)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update, I have been working (retail Christmas week is the actual worst) but I think I'm hitting my pace, thankfully. 
> 
> Thank you for 250 kudos! This story is growing far more quickly than I'd predicted, and it's so exciting to have all of you here for the adventure!

Regardless of whether or not Phil would be proud of him, three days later Wilbur was done. He was finished. He would not take another moment of this insanity. He would prefer slowly starving to death on the roadside. 

“OW!” Tommy was screaming. “No, don’t touch it!”

“There’s a stinger in there and we should pull it out,” Niki explained patiently for the one-hundredth time. “It will hurt less in the long run---”

“Alright, ALRIGHT just get it over with already.”   
  


Wilbur covered his ears and grimaced at Tubbo. The boy was barely paying attention, cradling an insect in his hand that, on further inspection, was a very still fuzzy black and yellow bee. Frowning sadly at Wilbur, he shouted “It’s DEAD,” loud enough to be heard over Tommy’s racket. 

“Yeah!” he shouted back. “They do that when they sting people.”

It was like listening to TNT exploding. How could two kids make so much  _ noise? _

Tubbo looked like he might cry. Niki had apparently pulled the stinger out of Tommy and was wrapping his hand in gauze while he wildly oscillated between screaming in pain, and announcing he was a big man who had never felt pain in his life. 

And was Tubbo putting the dead bee in his  _ pocket? _

He hadn’t realized that their two new tag-alongs would immediately become incredibly clingy. Nor had he anticipated that they would both be complete city boys.    
  


Not that they weren’t tough. In the days since they’d begun traveling together, he’d never once heard a word of complaint about the cold, or the long day’s walk, or the food. They seemed grateful if anything. Even Tommy, who didn’t seem to understand the concept of ‘shut up’ would grin and bear it. 

But the life on the road seemed a puzzle to them. Tommy caught a frog and celebrated by trying to adopt the poor creature. The clever animal had snuck away that night, but not before being named Clementine and subjected to what must have been a traumatizing amount of handling by the two teens. Tubbo was a fan of creepy crawlies of the more insectoid variety, chasing after every flying critter he saw. In the chilly weather, there wasn’t much in the way of insects, but the boys had somehow stumbled across a bee, and Tommy had gotten stung---

Admittedly, it was rather endearing, if a pain in the ass. Was he getting attached? No. Definitely not. It was simply the fact that he’d grown up on Phil’s seaside farm, and these two city kids were an amusing enigma, to say the least. 

They’d stopped at a town yesterday, and Niki had gone in for supplies and reconnaissance. She’d returned with bacon, which had firmly cemented her as the boy’s hero (She was Wilbur’s hero too; honestly if Niki had any fault it was that she found Tommy funny). She’d also returned with grimmer news; Schlatt’s people had indeed begun rounding up those who had fallen under the new draft.

Wilbur saw the boys look a little pale at the thought, but Niki had assured them that, as long as they avoided trouble, they would be safe. “Tubbo could pass for fourteen,” she said. “And Tommy will just have to stay inconspicuous. They might believe he’s too young if he keeps hunching over.” (It was true, the kid’s posture was terrible; he was definitely on his way to developing permanent back problems.) “They’ll leave Wilbur and me alone, we’re soldiers, so you don’t need to worry.” 

He wished he could say such reassuring words, but, in the end, he didn’t believe it. He remembered his father, sitting calmly across the dinner table, promising him that Schlatt wasn’t looking for boys with weak lungs, who were busy growing potatoes for the soldiers to eat. 

It was easy to believe his father until they came for him, and Wilbur learned that no one was actually safe. 

*******************

The tension between the little group was new. Dream didn’t like it, but he could understand it. George was worried that Bad would leave. Sapnap felt betrayed because his friend had hidden all those secrets for so long. 

Bad was crushed by guilt and trying to hide it. 

They were doing their best despite it. George took a turn making dinner, getting Bad to teach him how to flavor the stew correctly. Dream tried never to stray too far away, a silent hand reaching out to his friends when they needed it. Only a few months had passed since he’d become the newest addition to their tiny family, but he felt like he might be the most emotionally stable person there, which was probably a bad thing, considering that he didn’t feel particularly stable himself.

The compass was steadily taking them North along the road, up towards the coast. They should probably stop, make a plan, but the whole group seemed to hesitate over that can of worms. Dream knew the moment a decision had to be made, they would be forced to confront the fact that there was no answer to this mess that didn’t involve someone getting hurt. Better, for now, to treat it as an ordinary job. Follow the compass to the target. Sink into the mindlessness of footsteps on the wide dirt road. 

Sapnap was dealing with the stress of the constantly unspoken argument in a very… well, in typical Sapnap fashion. He’d been particularly taken with Bad’s “magic powers” and seemed determined to understand them.

“Wait, wait,” he was saying, skipping a few steps ahead and walking backward so he could face his friend. His nose was pink with the cold, and he’d wrapped a haphazardly knit scarf around the bottom of his face. “You can  _ sense thoughts _ ?”

Bad wrinkled his nose. “More like, emotions? Or  _ being?  _ It’s very hard to explain _ ” _

“Oh, oh, oh!” Sapnap wasn’t listening. “What am I thinking right now?” 

Laughing, Bad paused and took Sapnap’s hands in his own. Suddenly his eyes rolled back dramatically, and his voice dropped two octaves, and his friend vibrated with excitement. “Nick…” Bad muttered mysteriously, staring blankly off into the distance. “Nick… you are thinking about how much….how desperately… you need a haircut.”

Behind them, George dissolved into helpless giggling, unable to take another step. 

Sapnap snatched his hands back, a look of utter betrayal plastered across his face. “ _ Bad!”  _

“You’re absolutely right too,” Bad said, his voice returning to normal, a smile curling gently around the edges of his face. “It’s a disaster.”

“My hair is just fine, thanks.”

“I like it.” Dream volunteered. 

“Thank you!”

Bad laughed at Sapnap’s pouting face, rumbled his mess of black hair, and continued down the road. For a moment the tension was gone, and Dream was pretty sure they would be okay.

**************

Niki had also returned from the town with a string for Wilbur’s guitar. That night, he did his best to restring the battered instrument and hesitantly picked out a familiar country tune.    
  


“What song is it?” Niki asked, sitting across from him with her chin resting in her hands.

“It’s an old folk song, I thought everyone knew it.'' He sang the lyrics, about the spirit of a well that saved villagers during a drought. 

Niki listened solemnly. “It’s a sad song.”

“I’ve always liked the sad songs the best.”

“Me too.” 

There was a snort from somewhere in the shadows just beyond the fire, as Tommy dramatically flopped to the ground. “You guys are boring. Sing something funny, Wilbur. “ 

“Something funny?”

“Or about bees,” Tubbo volunteered brightly. 

Wilbur tried to remember, and suddenly he was back, sitting cross-legged on the floor of his house, next to the fire, writing down lyrics, while his father’s laughter drifted in from the kitchen. “Okay. Something funny. I’ve got one.” he grinned at Niki out of the corner of his mouth.  _ Now you’re just trying to impress her,  _ the voice in the back of his head whispered accusingly.  _ So what,  _ he told it. “I actually wrote this one myself.” 

Tommy said he thought the song wasn’t  _ that  _ good. When Wilbur heard him humming it three days later, he smiled despite himself. 

*********

“Hey.” 

“Hey.”

It was getting colder, and Dream wrapped his coat tighter and stuck more wood onto their fire before coming to sit by Bad. “I can’t sleep.”

“Well, you’re welcome to keep me company.” Bad was on watch, staring out at the quiet expanse of empty plane, his breath hanging in the air in white clouds. Far in the distance, they could see the glimmer of a town. For a moment Dream closed his eyes and reached out.  _ Hello, am I alone?  _

Somewhere a tree whispered back  _ hello hello  _ but it was a small greeting where Dream normally felt a symphony of voices. “I have a question, actually.”

Bad nodded. 

“Do you-- can you tell what I am?” It was a vague question, but Bad seemed to know what he was trying to ask. The hunter reached out and took Dream’s cold hand in his own freezing one, and for a moment they sat together. There was a familiarity between them, two souls built the same, like the ringing of a couple of bells chiming the same note. “I don’t know what I am anymore.” 

“What are you afraid of?” Bad finally turned to face him. “Because you’re not something less. You’re more than you used to be. You’re still the forest, and you’re still Dream. But you’re part of us now too.”

“What does that make me? Human? A spirit? If I could do the things I used to, you wouldn’t be in this danger at all. I’ve lost--”

“You’re Dream,” Bad said simply. “And you’re my friend. And you’re trying your best, just like the rest of us.” 

“I’d do anything for you.” It was his way of trying to say  _ I love you, thank you, you mean the world to me, I’ll try and let that be enough.  _ He knew Bad understood. 

“Well, why don’t you get some rest for me, then,” he said lightly, and when Dream lay down, he found that sleep came easier than before.

*************

Wilbur Soot was dreaming about a narrow street in the rain. 

There was a door in front of him, and in the blur of sleep and color that was the dream, he knew he was supposed to open it. The wood felt rough and real, and it creaked horribly. 

On the other side of the door was a small bar full of yellowed light, mostly empty, except for a handful of patrons deep in their cups, and a man with a long pink braid sitting in the back of the room. 

“Hey.”

“Hey.” 

Techno pushed a cup across the table as Wilbur sat down. “Have a drink.” 

“Thanks, I will.” the drink wasn’t particularly good, which made a fair bit of sense when you looked at the grubby interior of the bar, as well as the fact that it was pretty much deserted. “Is this your favorite spot or something? Also, what is the king of a city doing  _ here?”  _

“You made me up, you tell me.” there was a smirk on Techno’s face, but it was more of an ironic grin than something cruel.

“You like being left alone? Or maybe you like dirt and bad drinks.”

“The drinks are not that bad.”

Wilbur drained the rest of his and made a face to prove a point. “Maybe this place has sentimental value?”

“I did throw a guy across the room over there,” Techno sighed as if recalling a good memory. “That was fun.”

“You’re a very strange man, Techno.”

The king chuckled. “I thought we’d established that you made me up. I’m pretty sure that makes you the weird one.” 

“I don’t think I should be held accountable for my subconscious.”

Techno ordered another round of equally terrible drinks. Wilbur talked about traveling with Niki and the boys. Techno told him strange stories about the mysterious happenings of the city. Eventually, somewhere halfway through the third drink, Wilbur started talking about Phil. How he remembered little of life before his father had found him, a cold, angry, frightened child on the streets of Cram, and taken him home. How he’d been so afraid of Phil at first and then slowly, slowly, he’d begun to trust him, and eventually, when Phil had asked “do you want to stay?” Wilbur had simply said “forever,” and it had been settled. 

Techno was a good storyteller, but he was an even better listener. 

When Wilbur woke up, he had a raging hangover he couldn’t explain, but the next night he was not afraid to fall asleep. 

*****************

A week passed. And then another.

Wilbur followed the road, and he felt hope suddenly burst through him. This was a road he knew, only a few days from the seaside farm. Only a few days from Phil, and safety, and a hot fire, and  _ home _ . Niki was looking more cheerful too, and though she’d said little of her friend in the city, Wilbur could see that she was relieved to be so close to their destination. Tommy and Tubbo, on the other hand, seemed to grow more hesitant. Wilbur saw the nervousness in their eyes when Niki and Wilbur spoke of the friends and family that awaited them. 

“What about the boys?” Niki asked one night when the boys in question were asleep. 

“I’m taking them with me,” Wilbur said firmly. “Phil will take care of them, or at least he’ll make sure that they’re taken care of. I couldn’t leave them out in the cold, especially not with the draft still going on.” 

  
“You do like them after all.” 

“Absolutely not. Tommy’s a menace, and Tubbo’s not much better.” 

  
“Well,  _ I’ll  _ miss them.” 

“Come for dinner sometime. I’m only an hour's walk away from the city, you know. Phil would love to meet you.” 

_ Why was her smile so sad?  _ Wilbur wondered. But Niki said “that sounds very nice,” and the subject was changed. 

*************

A week passed. And then another. 

The hunters followed the compass, farther and farther north, to the coast. 

They teased one another, and fell asleep in tangled huddles because of the cold, and hunted down skeletons for spare arrows, and stopped in towns to warm their freezing hands and get a drink, and bullied Sapnap about his hair, and they did not talk about what they would do when they found the spy.

“They must be moving too,” Bad said. “Otherwise I feel like we would have caught up already. We need to go faster.” 

They stopped in town, and they watched a pair of guards dragging a boy only a few years younger out of his house. 

Dream turned away, a hand pressed against his mask, feeling like he might throw up. The other three stared resolutely on. They felt like they ought to watch, to remind themselves that they had escaped, and so many others had not. 

George’s hand crept to the papers in his pocket. Sapnap pulled his hood over his face. 

**************

It was Sapnap who found Bad lingering over the scrap of blue fabric. “What’s that?” 

Bad shoved it into his pocket. “Nothing important.” he consulted the compass. “I think we should head more to the east now. I’m worried that we’re going to get caught in the snow.” 

Dream glanced back at the clouds rolling in behind them. “There’s a storm coming. We should get to the town.” 

*****************

“I think there’s a storm coming,” Wilbur said. “We’re not ready.” 

Niki was consulting her tattered map. “We’re not that far from Cram.” 

“We won’t reach it in time. It’s still almost a day away.”  _ So close, so close.  _

“There’s another town. Riven. We might get there before the snow hits.”

******************

The Hunters arrived in Riven before the snow, and, thus, before the light disappeared. So they saw the posters affixed to the walls, the gates, and  lamposts.    
  


“ _Wanted. For Treason._ ” George read. “Treason? That’s pretty dramatic.” he tore off one of the posters and handed it to Bad. There was a rather crude drawing of a woman with hair falling about her shoulders, and a soldier’s uniform. 

“Is she a deserter?” Dream asked, peering over Bad’s shoulder.

“You don’t see posters like this up for George, do you?” Sapnap said. “This is clearly a big deal.” 

Dream glanced around with sudden understanding dawning on his face. “Is it the spy?”

“Schlatt’s men might be a step ahead,” Bad’s said grimly. “We had better be alert.” 

*****************

However, when Wilbur’s vagabond group arrived in Riven, the snowstorm had already begun. Dashing for the cover of an inn, they did not have time to notice the posters. 

***********

The snow fell on Riven. 

The needle of the compass in George’s pocket slowly swung. 

Bad’s hand slipped into his pocket, where a scrap of blue cloth, torn from a sweater sat. 

Wilbur sat on a bed in the tiny room in the inn, and played his guitar, while Tubbo and Tommy watched the snow, blankets wrapped around their shoulders, and Niki smiled softly, sketching out the scene with an old charcoal pencil on the back of a letter. 

The snow fell on Riven, as silently as feathers shook from a pillow, blanketing the roofs and streets, leaving behind the hushed awe of quiet expectation. 

The town slept. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This week, check out the work of my dear friend Shell (aka MusicallyActive). They wrote a sleepy boys fic called "All About Your Heart" that centers around Technoblade dealing with his feelings for his newfound family. It's short and very sweet. They also are soon to be publishing a Technoblade time-loop fic that you should definitely check out (I've been getting sneak peeks for the last few days and I am HYPED). 
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/27715538 
> 
> On another note, I'm gonna be on hiatus for a few weeks to spend more time with family and focus on being a Dungeon Master (yes, I am a certified D&D nerd). I'm not sure how long until the next update, but I promise it's coming. I intend to see this story to its end. :) 
> 
> Thank you so much for all the encouragement and support you send my way.


	6. one hundred steps off the end of the road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything starts going badly again. 
> 
> CW: Tommy is there, so there is swearing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Helllooooo I am back! My hiatus took a little longer than I expected, partly because I had a stroke of inspiration and decided to rewrite part of the plot...  
> Thank you for sticking with me. I'm going to resume regular updates from now on! 
> 
> I also want to say thank you for all the kind comments. As an author, it can be really hard to love, or even enjoy your own writing. It's difficult to see the good among the headaches, editing, and all the things you think you could do better. But your comments help me be proud of what I'm doing and reassure me that I'm succeeding in my goal of making people's days a little better. It means a lot. 
> 
> Lots of love, Teahound ☕️

_ Four months earlier:  _

There was a letter sitting on Niki’s breakfast plate. 

No address, just her name in a gentle cursive written on a rough brown envelope. The maid who’d left it there had received it at the door from a man in a red and gold coat. 

She hesitated, and tore it open. There were two things inside, one a worn piece of paper, folded neatly in half, and the other something small and round, that glittered as it rolled across the table and nearly into her lap. Catching it between her fingers, Niki looked down at a small pearl, glistening the faintest pink in the light streaming through the breakfast room windows. 

Her hands fumbled as she opened the letter. 

_ Dear Niki,  _

_ It’s been quite a while. I’ve been, as you can imagine, quite busy, and I haven’t done a very good job staying in touch. I’ve been missing you, though.  _

_ Life has settled down a bit. I’m working at this little inn in the city of Cram, not far from the coast. It’s named the Bounding Beagle, but everyone here calls it the smelly dog. Well, I do at least-- I clean out the stables, so I may be a bit biased. Still, it’s a good way of making a living, even if I do sometimes dream of greater things. If you’re ever in the area, I hope you’ll come to see me. I want to talk to you again.  _

_ Yours,  _

_ Alastair _

_ P.S. I’m sorry I never got your book back to you. I lost it when we moved. But I kept the pearl you gave me. Hopefully, it will serve as proof of my sincere apologies.  _

  
  


Niki read the letter again. And again. 

She stared at the pearl. At the letter. 

Well. 

She had work to do. 

“I’m done with breakfast,” she said to the maid hovering anxiously at the other end of the room. She hadn’t eaten a thing, but honestly, she didn’t think she could. “I need you to send a message. I need to talk to the King.” 

***************

The air smelled good, clean and crisp and cold. Niki sighed, her breath hanging in the air in clouds. 

Beside her, Wilbur was smiling softly up at the sky, so pale blue that it was almost white. He turned to Niki, and opened his mouth to speak, only to very nearly swallow a snowball. 

  
“Phh-- what-- you  _ little fucker-- _ ” 

Tommy was already darting away, Wil hobbling after him, his crutch making a strange three-legged trail through the snow. 

“C’mon Tubbo, we’ll get breakfast while they’re busy,” Niki said. “And we should find you and Tommy warmer clothes. I bet we can get some coats second hand?” 

“It’s alright,” Tubbo said, self-consciously pulling his thin sweater a little closer. He was cautious, Niki had noticed, about accepting gifts, but even if there was only a day or so left in their journey, she couldn’t let the boys walk around in the bitter cold in good conscience. A voice somewhere reminded her that she might have brought more than enough money to fund winter coats for a dozen stray kids, but that wasn’t why she was here. 

_ You’re getting off-track,  _ she chided herself.  _ You have a job to be doing.  _

But that didn’t stop her from grinning at Tubbo, who was chattering away while he kicked up snow with his worn-out boots, and trying to calculate exactly how many pastries Tommy and Wilbur could eat between them. 

Distracted, she didn’t see the soldiers staring from across the square.

Or walking towards them, shiny black boots crunching across fresh white snow.

Or the poster until it was practically in front of her nose. 

__

And then she saw. 

“Tubbo,” she said, gently, carefully. She tried not to scare him, but he couldn’t be here. “Can you go find Wilbur? And tell him we should head out of town as soon as possible, so he-- he’d better not get lost with Tommy.”

“But--” 

“Tubbo.” it came out harsher than she intended, “go.” 

He went. 

************

Across the square, four figures stood in the shadows and watched as a guard of shoddily-uniformed guards escorted the young woman into the square building that seemed to serve as part courthouse and part jail. 

The compass in George’s hand tracked her steps across the square. 

“Well,” Sapnap said. “Shit.”

“ _ Language,”  _ Bad muttered, but he looked close to letting a few profanities slip himself. 

The front doors of the build closed shut. 

Dream glanced from the compass to Bad’s face, his mouth set in a tight line. “So now what do we do?” 

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” George snapped the compass shut, and stared at that closed door and those barred windows. “We get her out.”

************

It was not a fair fight. Wilbur might be a few inches taller, and several brain cells smarter, but Tommy had two working legs and was determined to win. Wilbur chased after him, bumping into passer-by, and was met by four snowballs to the face. 

“Okay, okay, I  _ surrender,”  _ he sputtered, wiping stinging snow out of his eyes. Tommy sidled closer, grinning proudly, and WIlbur took advantage of the moment to shove a handful of snow down the back of his shirt. Tommy squirmed, swearing loudly. 

Wilbur laughed and ruffled Tommy’s hair. “It’s a tie then.”

“It is not!” 

No, Wilbur was definitely not getting attached. He wasn’t imagining Phil’s face when he showed up at the doorstep tonight (tonight, he was going home tonight!) of the house with two kids of unknown origin in tow. He wasn’t thinking about hot soup, and a warm fire, and maybe Niki would come to visit. And maybe Tommy and Tubbo would decide to stay.

“By the way,” he asked casually, “have you and Tubbo made any plans about what you’re doing next? Because I was thinking, if you wanted--” 

“Wil!” Tubbo was running, his face red, gasping for air. 

“Tubbo?” It wasn’t the fact that he’d been running that was frightening-- it was that horror-struck expression on his face.

Tommy was suddenly serious, all concern. “What is it, Big Man?”

Tubbo was gasping for breath. “Soldiers took Niki!”

“ _ What? _ ” 

He offered Wilbur a crumbled flyer. He smoothed it out and stared down at the rough sketch, the blocky letters. It felt like it took him an eternity to understand what he was seeing. “Wanted for  _ treason? _ ”

“They took her to the jail.” 

Wilbur Soot considered himself a rational man. And in this situation, there was only one rational thing to be done. He and the boys had probably been seen with Niki. Tubbo certainly had. They were only a day’s hike from home. A day away from Phil, from safety. From that hot soup and a warm fireplace, and the hug his Dad was going to give him when he stepped through the door. 

They should leave, now. 

But instead what came out of his mouth was “what’s going to happen to her?”

Tommy looked pale. “I mean, y’know what-- I mean, it’s treason man--”

“What are we going to do?” Tubbo asked. His eyes were wide, stuck somewhere between pleading and fear. 

“Leave,” Wilbur said.

  
Or, that’s what he meant to say. The word got stuck halfway in his throat. 

The thing was, Wilbur was pretty sure that Niki had saved his life. And you don’t just leave someone like that behind. 

“We’re going to get her out.” 

**************

They had never ended up using those fireworks they’d bought. There had been the whole kidnapping thing, and then they’d all been distracted by the pressing, cold, numbing weight of fear and frustration that had dogged their steps all the way to Riven. There had never felt like a right time to set off explosives for fun. 

Well, now they were setting off explosives for fun  _ and  _ profit. Sapnap grinned and passed George a handful of the colorful paper rockets. “You take the left side of the square. I’ll take the right. We set off as many as we can, and then get out of there.”

“Try not to get spotted,” Bad said, buckling on his sword. Night had fallen, leaving them shrouded in shadows, but he still glanced nervously across the street, where the ugly stone prison sat. “We can’t really do two jailbreaks in a night. Head to the city gate, and meet us there.”

Dream settled the smiling white mask across his face, and Sapnap felt a shiver run down his spine as a cold bit of memory touched the back of his neck. He remembered the first time he’d seen that smile. He knew exactly how frightening Dream could be, even outside of his forest home, stripped of the greater part of his power. 

He was glad Dream was on their side. 

  
“We’ll be back soon,” the spirit promised. “See you guys in a few.”

**************

Wilbur had no idea what he was doing, but he wasn’t going to admit it. 

He and the boys had been sequestered in their tiny room at the inn, bouncing ideas back and forth like tennis balls, and with the limited success of people who had never learned how to use a racket. They did, at least, have a few advantages on their side. The first was that Wilbur was still wearing, beneath his old coat the uniform of a soldier. Not a very well-kept soldier, but he would at least be due some measure of respect from the local guards. The second advantage was that Tommy seemed incapable of feeling fear. And third, Tubbo could pick locks.

And that was it. 

Considering that they were trying to break a person out of prison-- not to mention that said person was probably under tight lock and key--  _ what had Niki done? What warranted a charge of treason?  _ \-- they were woefully underprepared. 

“Okay, big man,” Tommy said, rubbing his hands together. “What’s the plan?” 

“Alright,” hadn’t Wilbur always said he was wasted as one of a million little soldier ants, that he really belonged in the command tent? Well, now was the time to prove it, wasn’t it? “I’m going to take Tubbo up to those guards in the front and say I caught him trying to pick my pocket. Then, Tommy, you need to cause a commotion, and we’ll… slip inside?” Damn, he didn’t want to sound this uncertain. “I’ll keep a lookout and Tubbo will pick the lock. And then we leave.”

_ That is a fuckin’ dumb idea,  _ his Dad’s voice said in his head. 

And Wilbur knew it. He was agonizingly aware that he was less than twenty-four hours away from home and this was a fool’s mission, and that he was probably dooming himself, and Tommy and Tubbo too. 

But still. Still. Niki had made a fire and made him laugh, and made him walk a little faster, and carried his back, and she’d been  _ kind _ . Whatever else she was, Niki was his friend, and if he’d learned anything, from his Dad, and from a year on the battlefield, it was this: the worst thing you could do was look away when another person needed your help. 

Okay then. Time for the dumbest thing he’d ever done. 

“Ready?” 

*********************

Niki couldn’t decide if she wanted to pace back and forth across her tiny cell, or sit very still and pretend this wasn’t happening. 

  
She was a woman of action, so she settled for pacing, and then standing and glaring angrily at the nearest available object. Not that there were very many things to look at. Her routine today had been  _ pace, glare at the wall, pace, glare at the wall, pace, glare at the small square of sky through her second-story cell window, pace, glare at the wall again, pace, glare at chamber pot, pace, glare at the cell door, sit, glare at the meager dinner, pace---  _

Forget execution. She’d go insane first. 

The bright morning light faded into afternoon and then drifted into evening. They’d left a redstone torch behind, gleaming with an unnatural reddish light. Niki couldn’t shake the illusion of the cell walls painted in blood. 

The angle from the little window showed nothing but more square buildings behind the prison draped with sheets of snow. No stars. Niki wished there were stars. Or at least a view out into the square, with people. Instead of a dead-quiet street. 

Schatt’s people had been on to her. That was worrying, but not entirely unexpected. As covert as her mission had been, she knew there were spies in Calestria, even in the very small circle of people who’d known about her mission.

The frustrating part was how close she’d been to succeeded. 

At least she was here, still, and not in the capital. And though they’d searched her, they hadn’t done a very good job. The pale pink pearl was still sewn into the lining of her thin blue jacket. And the letters were tucked away in their spot beneath the lining of her boots. 

Still, those were very limited blessings, when she considered the situation as a whole. 

She stopped pacing long enough to sit and glare at the cell door, arms wrapped tremblingly around herself. She wished they’d had the decency to leave her a blanket. Cold winter air was blowing in through the barred window, and they’d taken her overcoat. 

She wasn’t going to cry. She’d taken this mission, and she’d accepted the consequences before she’d left. 

But Eret would be waiting for her…. 

No. No tears. 

At least Tubbo had gotten away, and Wilbur and Tommy too. And--- 

A very faint sizzling sound and the smell of something acrid hit her nose and she spun around and nearly yelled with shock, clapping her hands over her mouth. 

There was a face at the window. The  _ second-story  _ window _.  _

“ _ Quiet _ ,” a voice hissed. Glasses reflected off the redstone glow. 

“Wh- what?” she crept closer, shapes resolving into a person, a hooded figure dangling from a rope, feet braced against the outside wall. In their hands was a shining vial of something. 

A grin, obscured by metal bars and shadows, peeked through. “You might want to cover your ears. It’s gonna get loud.” 

And then the explosions went off.

*************

This was already backfiring. 

Wilbur had dragged Tubbo up to the jailhouse steps by the collar of his worn shirt and began a tirade about catching him red-handed, and the guards had listened very politely. So far, so good, right? 

And then the guard on the right had opened the door ( _ so far so good _ ) and the guard on the left had roughly grabbed Tubbo’s arm ( _ wait, no _ ) and said, “Well, a night in a cell should teach him a lesson.” 

“I’d like to get this settled to _ night, _ ” Wilbur snapped, shouldering forward.

The guard shrugged. “No need to trouble yourself any further, we’ll take him from here.”

Tubbo glanced back and the panic in his eyes was like a punch to the stomach. 

“Wait kid,” said the guard suddenly, “how old are you? You’ve got papers?”   
  


_ No. No. No.  _

There was a shout from the other side of the square, and a flash of Tommy’s blond hair and Wilbur felt like he might have a panic attack, because this wasn’t working, he could lose them both, and should he go in and get Niki, or should he try and get out of this, and  _ oh no, oh no, oh no.  _

And then the explosions went off.

Crack. Crack. Crash.  _ Boom, boom, boom.  _

Light, in vivid, eye-searing color, exploded above the square, staining the white snow greens and blues, and red, red as blood. For a moment Wilbur was seeing a field drenched in crimson, explosions, explosions, tearing through his eardrums, tearing through skin and bone and--

“Wilbur!” When had Tommy caught up? “Let’s go!” 

He looked up. The guards were halfway across the square, searching for the source of those fireworks. Tubbo was holding the door open. 

“You okay big man?” Tommy asked. What did he see in Wilbur’s eyes?

“Yeah.” this wasn’t a battlefield, but he still had a job to do. “Let’s go.”

**************

The noise rattled through Bad’s bones, but he held his hand as steady as he could, dripping acid onto the metal bars one at a time. Good thing the prisoner was so small; he probably only needed to take four of these off. 

They didn’t have much time. According to George’s calculations, they’d be lucky for ten minute’s use from the fireworks, and then he and Sapnap would be trying to get out of the city before guards caught them. Bad wasn’t particularly worried about them; they were both smart, and the winding roads of the darkened town provided plenty of outlets for escape. He was a little more worried about himself and Dream. The spirit was currently perched on the flat roof of the jailhouse, holding the rope that was dangling Bad directly in front of the barred window. 

“Who are you?” the spy whispered, between the sound of fireworks exploding. 

“We were hired to get you out of here,” Bad said, feeling a touch of guilt over the white lie. The acid fizzed, the smell burning at the back of his nose. The rope trembled, Dream straining with the effort of keeping him balanced. Producing a short crowbar, he began twisting at the metal. The spy helped, throwing her weight against the bars, until, slowly, one after the other they began to give way. 

The sound of the explosions was growing fainter and more intermittent. They probably had a few minutes left at most. 

And then the spy turned back toward the iron door, eyes wide. “Someone’s trying to get in!”

“Oh,  _ muffins, _ ” one bar left, she’d be able to slip through. Another minute.

The fireworks were finished, and now Bad could hear what she was hearing, a rattling coming from the door. 

The last bar came off as the cell door burst open, revealing two panting children and a lanky man with curly brown hair and a crutch under his arm. 

“ _ Wil?”  _   
  


“Niki!” the man hurried to where she was standing, pulling her into a hug. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah, I--” 

Then he noticed, right behind her head, Bad, dangling awkwardly from the window, halfway through taking the fourth bar off. “What the  _ hell?”  _

“Language.” 

The boy on the right, who was wearing a crumpled and stained green shirt, and an expression of confused curiosity, sidled closer. “Wait are you breaking Niki out too?”

“What the  _ fuck,  _ man, that’s our job!” the boy on the right crossed his arms.

“ _ Language. _ And be quiet!”

Too late, Bad could hear shouting from somewhere in the recesses of the prison. With a satisfying  _ clang,  _ the final bar went flying off. “Okay, we have to hurry. All of you, I’m going to rappel down, and then you come after me.” 

“But--” 

“No time.” sure enough the shouting was getting louder. “Dream, we’ve got like, five people incoming!” 

“ _ What?”  _

****************

One after another they landed in the snow, Niki first, and the boys, and finally Wilbur, crutch slung awkwardly over his shoulder, his bad leg collapsing under him as he came to the ground. Niki pulled him to his feet. He couldn’t tell if it was his hands that were shaking, or hers.    
  


Screams of _they’re gone!_ and _what_ _was that?_ echoed behind them. Wilbur started as a masked figure slid down the side of the building on a drainpipe, looking ethereal, unbound by gravity itself.“What is happening?” he asked, not sure if he was talking to Niki or the man with the dark hood.   
  


It was the man who turned to him, and his face was set in a grim line. “Run.” 

They ran, feet crunching the snow, and the smell of gunpowder lingering behind them, smoke drifting up up up, and shadowing the pale moon glittering down over Riven. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's recommendation is "And I will fight god (until he comes down to meet me)" by my friend Maaiams. It's a story about George, a god-like being who has lost touch with his humanity, and Dream, who is out to kill god. It's really fun, and just brimming with angst. Check it out!!
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/27562126
> 
> And as always, come and find me on Tumblr! [@Tea-With-Veth](https://tea-with-veth.tumblr.com/)


	7. we could be free

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW for Tommyinnit typical swearing, kidnapping, non-detailed descriptions of a minor panic attack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY GUYS, I'M BACK!  
> Sorry, I know this took ages. I moved back into college, started a Creative Writing class, started writing for the school newspaper, joined a writing group, joined a Dream SMP Big Bang...basically, I'm juggling a lot of projects right now, as you can imagine. I don't know exactly what that will mean for updates, but I'm going to try and keep them as regular as I can. We'll see what that looks like. Thanks for hanging with me as I try to figure this story out! 
> 
> ALSO thank you for 400 kudos! You guys are so incredible, and your support means the world. 
> 
> \- lots of love, Teahound ☕️

_ Fifteen years earlier:  _

The Captain stopped at the heavy oak door, knocking softly, a hand gripping the sword on his belt so tightly his knuckles were going white. There should have been guards posted at this doorway, but they were gone now, maybe fled, maybe joining the celebration downstairs, maybe taking advantage of the chaos to get a drink, or steal away somewhere to gossip and plan the next move. 

If Jordan had any sense, he’d be doing any one of those things. But instead, he was knocking on this door.  _ It’s the right thing to do,  _ he said, a mantra against all the uncertainty.  _ If I don’t do this no one will.  _

The door creaked open slowly, and the face of the nursemaid, blurry with sleep, answered. “Captain? I--”

“I need to see the boys.”

“It’s one in the morning.”

“It’s urgent,” he countered. “ _ Very  _ urgent.” 

Her face cleared, eyes wide with sudden fear. She had, like the rest of them, suspected what was coming, and refused to believe it. “Schlatt?” 

“Yes.”

“The King and Queen--” 

“It’s too late. He’ll be coming after the boys next.” he might have only minutes. “I need you to wake them up and get them ready. We’re leaving. Now.” 

“What should I tell them?”

He hesitated. What do you tell two boys who have just lost everything, but have no inkling of why, and really there is no reason why, beyond the machinations of one twisted man’s politics, a puppet show in which they are now unwanted toys? “Tell them we’re going for an adventure. I’ll explain everything to them. When it’s safe.” 

There might never be a safe time. He’d have to explain that too. 

She nodded--  _ it’s the right thing to do,  _ she understood that too-- and stepped aside, opening the door to him. 

He slipped inside (glancing left, right, listening for footsteps on the stairs and voices in the hall) and watched her disappear into the bedroom adjacent to the part nursery, part schoolroom. It was stuffed with toys and books, neatly put in their place. A map, torn in one corner, was tacked against the wall, and some unsteady hand had drawn sea monsters eating crooked boats into the oceans. The Captain smiled despite himself. Muffled, sleepy voices drifted back from the bedroom, and hushed whispers of warning, and he was brought back to the fearful moment. 

Jordan had not lived that many years, but he’d had more than his fair share of adventures. But this-- this was a gamble, the life or death kind. 

_ It’s the right thing to do.  _ In the midst of chaos, uncertainty, and odds stacked neatly up against him, this was one thing he knew. 

The nursemaid herded the boys into the room, warm jackets on woolen sweaters, brown curls every-which-way, rubbing sleep from their eyes. The elder looked excited, the younger nervous, clutching a worn stuffed animal that might have been a whale. 

“The Captain is going to take you for a very exciting trip!” he had to admire how well she was holding up, her voice betraying not a note of worry. 

“Where are we going?” the older boy asked, and there was a bit of suspicion in his eye. He knew something was wrong. 

Jordan smiled. “It’s a surprise. Are you ready? You should probably grab some extra blankets, it’s chilly tonight.” 

“I’ll get them. Shoes on, boys. Eret, help your brother.” 

They trundled off to fetch their shoes from beside the door, wrestling with the laces, and putting mittens on the wrong hands. 

“Where are you taking them?” the nurse said quietly into his ear. She was folding up blankets and putting things into bags for them; clothes, favorite books, a spare toy. 

Little pieces of a home that didn’t belong to them anymore. It almost felt cruel that they should be given such scattered bits to cling to. “I can’t tell you. You understand why. I’ll take one, and Puffy will get the other. Hopefully, we can reunite them somewhere  _ he  _ can’t reach them.”

“And you? Don’t you have a kid at home?” 

“He’s with a neighbor, I’ll send for him after things have blown over.” And if he never saw his father again--  _ I’m doing the right thing, I’m doing the right thing--  _ he would be too young to remember a father who disappeared in the night to go help somebody else’s sons. “You should get out of town. Sooner rather than later. Tonight.” 

“I want to help.” 

“You can help by staying out of Schlatt’s hands.” 

The boys finished with their boots. The nurse fixed the tangled mittens and buttoned coats and handed Jordan the hastily packed bag. “Good luck boys!” she said, with all the cheer of a woman seeing her two charges off on a midnight adventure, having put snacks in their pockets, and planning to see them, exhausted and brimming with excitement, at sunrise. 

_ I’m doing the right thing,  _ Jordan thought as they left the room, quietly, quietly, listening, waiting, watching,  _ and thank the Lady I’m not the only one.  _

*********************

Feet crunched loudly against the snow as Wilbur trailed Niki and the boys through the shadows of crooked wooden buildings, running, running. The silhouettes of their strange guides, the hooded one ahead, and the masked one just behind, felt oppressively ominous. 

They turned a corner, sharply, and Wilbur hissed in pain as he stumbled awkwardly on his bad leg. “You good?” Mask asked. Something about those painted wooden eyes and the dancing agility of the figure felt… unreal as if his brain refused to recognize that there was a person in front of him. Wilbur nodded, avoiding the emotionless gaze. 

Two more figures emerged, practically from nowhere, as if, like termites, they’d come out of the woodwork. “The gate is shut!” one panted, and Wilbur felt a sudden pang of familiarity he couldn’t place. Where had he heard that voice before?

“Take care of it,” Hood said. He was clearly the leader then. “Dream, you go with and clear the path.” 

Mask was gone in a flash, peeling away with the two others. Wilbur glanced at Niki, her eyes fixed ahead. He wanted to stop, to demand that they all stop, right now, sit down, and explain what was happening. Or simply take a minute to breathe-- fear and exhaustion were tangled up in his throat, words and air alike trapped in his lungs. 

And there! The gates came into view, and then miraculously, they were swinging open, and he caught a glimpse of dark goggles and a white shirt, and then they were on the other side, running, running, running, panting and haggard, and finally coming to a stop behind a small copse of trees, breathless. 

“What the  _ fuck is going on _ ,” Tommy said, because he wasn’t one to mince words. 

“Language,” Hood said. For someone who was clearly in charge, nothing about him seemed particularly….threatening. Maybe it was the glasses, Wilbur mused. “George, get some light.” 

“We were looking for  _ one  _ spy,” said another voice from behind, and Wilbur whipped around where a dark-haired kid with a white bandana tied around his head was leaning against a tree. “Why are there a bunch of kids?” 

Several things happened at once. 

The man with the dark goggles lit a lantern and light flooded the little clearing in the trees, and Wilbur caught a glimpse of his face and made a strangled sound of surprise. 

Tubbo shrank closer to Wilbur, a hand gripping the sleeve of his coat, eyes fixed on the hooded man. 

Tommy turned his heel and offered the speaker a rude gesture. “I’m not a  _ fooken kid-- _ ” 

Niki, standing beside him suddenly ran forward, pushing Hood to the ground, and making a dash for the darkness just beyond--- 

Like a spectre, Mask-- Dream, he’d been called Dream, right?-- emerged from the trees, and gently tackled Niki to the ground, practically in slow motion. 

It was like Wilbur blinked, and suddenly there was a sword pointed at his throat, courtesy of Hood, the kid with the headband and Tommy were wrestling in the dirt and snow, and Niki was being practically dragged back into the lamplight by George- _ what the actual hell was George Not-Found doing here?--  _ and the other in green, his mask now knocked askew and his face bleeding. 

“Okay,” Hood said evenly, the point of his sword still hovering an inch away from Wilbur’s throat. Tubbo shrunk closer like he was trying to disappear. “Okay, I think we’d all like to do this the easy way.” 

“Let  _ go  _ of me,” Niki spat at the one called Dream, who was holding onto one arm while Geroge gripped the other. Wilbur was pretty sure she could take George in a fight, but Dream-- beyond being nearly as tall as Wilbur himself, something about the light in the green eye that was visible beyond the lopsided mask made him think he was more than equal to anyone in the room. 

Tommy was spitting out curses; Headband had him by the collar. 

Hood hesitated. “If you run, we will kill him.” his eyes flickered to Wilbur, who felt his mouth go dry.  _ No, no, no,  _ what was happening,  _ what is happening?  _

What was the old saying again?  _ Out of the frying pan and into the fire?  _

“And him,” Headband said cheerfully. He had a dagger, and oh gods, he was pointing it at Tommy who was suddenly still. Tubbo made a strangled noise, half anger and half fear, from where he was practically buried in Wilbur's coat.

“Sapnap _ ,”  _ Hood said scathingly. “We’re not gonna hurt kids _. _ ”

“Well, this one bit me. I’m making an exception.” 

“ _ Nick _ .” 

“Fine. But I’m not letting him go.” 

Hood rolled his eyes. “That’s fine. Okay, introductions. I’m Bad, that muffin over there is Sapnap--”

“Hey!”

“This is Dream, and this is--”

“George.” Wilbur finished. “What the fuck are you doing here?” 

George started, pushing those goggles onto his forehead, blinking confusion.  _ “Wilbur Soot? _ ”

Sapnap giggled. “You guys know each other? Wait, George, is he your ex?” 

  
“ _ No!”  _

“I thought you’d deserted,” Wilbur said hesitantly, hesitantly for seeing an old friend, more hesitantly for the sword at his throat. “I uh, still have your guitar.” 

“Oh. Yeah. I-- these are my friends. You got out?”

“I got pretty cut up a few months ago, and they sent me home.” 

Mask- Dream-- barked out a laugh. “This is awkward.” 

It began to snow again. A flake landed on Wilbur’s nose and made him sneeze. It was unbearably tense. He wanted to laugh. Or cry. Was it just this morning that he had thought  _ one more day until I’m home?  _

He wanted to scream. 

“What is happening?” he asked, or gasped. Looking at Niki, stone still, who was looking at him. “Who are you people?” 

Bad cleared his throat, a glimpse of square glasses reflecting the lamplight. “We are… independent contractors. We were hired to find a Calestrian spy. Your friend here.” 

“You work for Schlatt,” Tommy spat. 

“Like hell we do,” Sapnap said, and Tommy stomped on his foot. “ _ Ow!  _ What the-- what the-- the  _ muffin! _ ” 

Bad shook his head. “Like, we said, we were hired by an interested third party.” 

“Well, you’re in the wrong place. _ ” No, no, no, this is wrong, it’s wrong, Niki?  _ “None of us are spies.” 

There was silence. Nothing but the soft drift of snow through birch trees, and the crackling of a lantern sitting on a stump, and the breath of eight people waiting in the woods for  _ something.  _

“Wil,” Niki said, finally, finally, and the sound of her voice was the sound of despair. Wilbur’s heart stopped. “Wil, it’s-- it’s true. I’m sorry.” 

The world stopped, and suddenly there were no swords, no mercenaries, no freezing cold, just Niki and Wilbur, a yawning chasm at their feet, in their tattered blue uniforms. “You’re from Calestria.”

It wasn’t a question, nor an accusation, exactly, just something balanced in-between on a knife’s edge. 

“Yes. But, Wil, I never wanted to hurt you. I was never  going to  hurt you. I can’t tell you, but I promise, I  _ promise-- _ ” 

“Okay.” 

She stopped. “What?”

“ _Okay_. I believe you.” 

Here was something true: Niki had probably saved his life. Here was another thing: Niki was kind. And another: whatever else was true about her, if she was a Calestrian, or if she’d been using them all the entire time, or if she had been in that cell for a good reason, Wilbur knew with a bone-deep certainty that he owed her a debt he probably wasn’t even capable of repaying. 

But he could try. 

The world crashed back down on them with a rush. Bad, the mercenary, lowered his sword. “Listen,” he said, “We’re only interested in the spy. You and the kids should go.” 

“And just leave Niki with you dicks?” Tommy made another attempt at wiggling out of Sapnap’s grip, feet kicking. “Like hell.” 

“Language,  _ please _ . Sapnap, let him go,” Bad ordered, and Tommy was unceremoniously dropped in the snow.    
  


“Wilbur,” Tubbo said, all seriousness, cautiously helping Tommy to his feet. “We can’t leave.” 

Another thing that was true: they were right. 

“Tommy, Tubbo,” Wilbur wondered how his voice sounded so confident, but he clung to the scraps of certainty. “I’m going to give you directions. I want you to go to Halt, where my dad is. Phil-- he took care of me when I was like you. He’ll make sure you’re okay, I promise.” 

“Wil--” Niki began, but he wouldn’t let her continue. 

“I’m staying here. I’m not leaving Niki.” 

“Well,” Tommy said in a voice that could not be argued with, “we’re not leaving you.” 

“We can’t just show up at your Dad’s house and say ‘sorry we left him behind with a bunch of people who were threatening to kill him’ _”_ Tubbo’s tone was scathing. “If you’re staying with Niki so are we.” 

Niki looked at them, from one to the other, aghast. “No!” 

“That’s not a good idea Wilbur,” George said, “our employers,” he hesitated, paused, backtracked, “we can’t speak for your safety if you stay.”

“What will happen to Niki?” 

They did not answer him.    
  


“Yeah, I thought so. I’m  _ not going.”  _

Tommy stepped up beside him, crossing his arm. “And Tubbo and I aren’t leaving either.” there was an impish grin on his face, at odds with the darkness of the night, the grimness of the moment. “You’re stuck with us, bitches.” 

***************************

The mercenaries made them walk an hour or two away from the city, where, Wilbur supposed, the chances of Schlatt’s men finding them was slimmer. It wouldn’t have been incredibly awkward, if not for Tommy, who didn’t seem to know the meaning of the word. If Wilbur hadn’t known better he would have thought the kid was enjoying himself. 

“What’s the worst word you know?” seemed to be a favorite question, and at some point, he discovered that Bad did not like swearing, and there was not a moment's peace, not even after Sapnap threatened to find him a gag (though he sounded, perhaps, a little amused). 

Finally, the hunters stopped to set up a small camp away from the road, somewhere Wilbur could not place in the darkness. The snow had stopped, but Wilbur’s hands felt numb with the cold, and he was worried about Tommy and Tubbo, with holes through their shoes. 

He tried not to think about home,  _ home _ only a day away.    
  
What would Phil think if he never came back? 

“Hey.” 

It was George, with a tin mug of lukewarm soup and a blanket. “Oh. Hey.” 

  
  


The last time he’d seen George had been at the other side of a fire in a dirty, smelly camp. Someone had stolen whiskey from somewhere and they were passing around the bottle like the drink was liquid courage. They needed it. The whispers had made their way through the young soldiers;  _ tomorrow, tomorrow, maybe next week, we march off and we don’t come back, because nobody comes back anymore.  _ So they passed the bottle around and laughed at stupid jokes, and Wilbur had looked at the nervous faces around the fire and screamed the lyrics to the dumb drinking song a bit louder.

And the next morning when he’d woken up George’s guitar had been gently placed at the end of Wilbur’s bed, and the man himself was nowhere to be seen. They said he was a deserter, and they’d all envied his escape and feared for his future more; they’d seen deserters shot before. A few of them had been on the other end of that firing squad already. But George was never caught, and they’d called him the not-found because the officers didn’t like it when they talked about deserters. 

“Weird question,” he said. “But I kind of thought you’d laid down the sword and all that shit. When you deserted.” 

George pulled a piece of crinkled paper out of his pocket, unfolding it and smoothing it out with careful fingers. “I think you’re mistaken. I didn’t desert. There was a training accident.” he passed the paper over to Wilbur; it was signed and sealed. George had that deadpan expression that was somehow as real as a smile. 

“You’re a little shit, George,” Wilbur passed the paper back, marveling silently. “This life is better?” 

“Yeah, I guess. I’m making a choice about what I want, for the first time in my life. No Father, no officers--”

“Just murdering people for money.” Wilbur sipped at the soup, watching the others out of the corner of his eye. Tubbo and Tommy looked dead on their feet, distrustfully watching Bad, Sapnap, and Dream, laughing over some joke on the other side of the fire. Niki sat in a shadow, watching him with hollow eyes.

George snorted quietly. “Just like I would have done if I stayed, Soot. At least now I’m doing it for me and my friends; not some meaningless political campaign that puts money in war-monger’s pockets, or having my old man live out his dreams of being some kind of war hero through me.” 

“Niki’s a good person George. This isn’t right.” 

Another quiet laugh, touched with more bitterness than mirth. “I hate to break it to you, Soot, but there aren’t good people in this world. It’s just that some of us hide it better than others.” he stood, brushing snow off his pants. “You really should go. Our...employer isn’t going to like that you know about the spy. Go home, Soot. You’ve got a  _ life.  _ You’ve got a good Dad. You can’t have lived through all  _ that _ -” and he waved a vague hand out east, back, back, back, where there were fields of mud and bone and blood left behind, “to waste it all over a  _ Calestrian spy  _ you met when?”

“Like, last month.” he sipped his soup, suddenly awkward. 

“And there are the kids too.” 

“Listen,” Wilbur said firmly. “I don’t desert my friends. I’m staying with Niki as long as I can.” 

George’s face tightened into a sharp line, and he walked back to where his friends were in the midst of some argument that Wilbur couldn’t identify. 

Niki was watching him from the other side of the fire. She didn’t look happy. But there was quiet gratitude behind her eyes, and Wilbur was glad.

*******************

He fell asleep with an arm around the boys, collapsed by a smoky fire in a huddle, party for warmth and mostly to stave off the bone-chilling fear that remained unspoken. 

The mercenaries had searched them, taking their weapons, including the boy’s daggers, but they’d left them unrestrained. Except for Niki. They’d tied her hands, and then Bad had explained, with quiet clarity, that they were capable of tracking her wherever she went if she ran. 

He hadn’t repeated his former threat, to kill Wilbur, but it still hung in the air like suffocating smoke.

******************

He fell asleep and he dreamed he was standing on that sunrise rooftop.

Techno was already sitting, lands dangling over open air. Slowly Wilbur sat down. There was something different in the air, something substantial and tense and buzzing with awakeness. Techno must have felt it too, because he turned to him, red eyes wondering. “What is it?” 

“I have a question.”

“Hm.”

“How real is this? How real are  _ you?  _ You’re not just a figment of my imagination, are you? I’m not just going insane?” 

Techno looked at him. He was tall, massively tall, but Wilbur was lanky and sat tall while the other slouched comfortably, and they somehow sat eye to eye. “No.” 

“Then what is happening?”

“I’m goin’ to be perfectly honest,” Techno said in his rough monotone rumble. “I don’t think I know much better than you do.” 

There was a long pause. 

The strange king passed him the flask. 

Wilbur took a drink. The liquor burned his throat and warmed his fingers. His mind returned momentarily to a campfire the night before a long march, fear a monster in his stomach. 

Real. This was  _ real.  _ Somehow. It made his head hurt, trying to make the pieces fit. It was like looking at an illusion. “I need help.” 

“Heh?” 

The story spilled out of him like water from a pitcher.

  
Whatever else he was, real or imagination, human or  _ something more,  _ Techno was still a very good listener. 

“I need help,” he said, fear tight in his chest. “You’ve got to help us. I can’t let the boys-- and Niki-- I can’t-- I can’t--”

“I think you should breathe,” Techno said quietly. 

Wilbur drew in a deep, shuddering breath. Another another. And another. He remembered that, when he was very young, that first year after Phil had brought him home, he’d had nightmares about running from something vague and shadowy, something that consumed whatever was in its path and spit them out again, all twisted. Phil would hold him in his lap and take Wil’s small hand (it had been wet and slick with blood in the dream) and place it on his chest, taking slow, deep breaths, and Wilbur would try and match them, and the fear would pass. 

_ Breathe kid,  _ Phil’s voice floated in from that past, gentle.  _ It wasn’t real. It was a very bad dream. This is real. You’re with me. Breathe, Wil.  _

“Please.” he tried again. “I don’t know who or  _ what  _ you are Techno. But I trust you. Help us.” 

There was a long pause. Techno stared down at his hands. “That’s not one I’ve heard before.” 

“Well, I’m saying it now.” 

He sighed, straightened his crown, his face something like annoyance and something like regret and something like amusement, and pulled out a dagger, long, wickedly sharp, glittering in the pink light of a muted, smokey sunrise in a city in a dream. Pressing it into Wilbur’s hand, he grinned. “Well.”

“Well?”

Techno leaned close and laughed, deep and soft, almost fond. “Go murder some nerds for me,” he said, and flicked Wilbur on the nose. 

Wilbur Soot woke up, and there was a dagger in his hand, and it was still night, and Niki was staring at him eyes wide as saucers, and there was Techno’s laughter still a quiet echo in his ears. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two recommendations for today! 
> 
> First, check out the work of my friend Calwasfound! They wrote "the smp performing arts department" which is particularly fun for the theater kids, seeing that it's a theater AU with all the delights of acting, writing, the orchestra, tech crew, etc! I love how Cal writes banter, in particular, this is a really fun and fluffy read for a rainy day. Seriously, it's quality goodness.
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/28585596/chapters/70057803 
> 
> My second recommendation I feel almost obligated to make, seeing how much it's gotten me through a headache of a day. "oh dear, can you see me?" by findingkairos is just... it's so good. It's fairly intense angst, especially in the first few chapters, but the comfort in this hurt/comfort tale is going to make it so worth it. Everything findingkairos writes is absolutely golden, and this is no exception. It's a Phil and Techno age swap AU, where Phil is a child soldier, and Techno is a general for the enemy army, who ends up trying to help Phil. It's just... if you like hurt/comfort and good writing. This is your story. 
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/28681323/chapters/70314384
> 
> Thanks for reading! Have a great rest of your week!

**Author's Note:**

> I hope to update roughly weekly, but we'll just have to see how my schedule ends up working out now that I'm on break! I'm gonna try to keep responding to every comment, but please forgive me if I end up missing yours, and know that I see and am incredibly motivated by all your kind words. 
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr as [@Tea-With-Veth](https://tea-with-veth.tumblr.com/) where I post fanart and occasional drabbles. (Mostly I just reblog cool stuff tho) 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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